


When I Run Out of Road

by QuickedWeen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, (off screen), (very minor), 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ballet, British Expats, Childhood Friends, Colonialism, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Giraffe Manor, Hedonism, Kenya, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Nairobi, Period Typical Attitudes, Travel, the Happy Valley Set
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickedWeen/pseuds/QuickedWeen
Summary: It's 1932 when Harry Styles sets off on an adventure to the African continent and the most popular new travel destination: Nairobi. He has reservations at the best club in town and plans to stay for a few weeks. What he doesn't expect is to meet and get to know a wonderful family along the way.The Deakins are sponsors of the Royal Ballet, traveling with the company to see them perform in Nairobi for the first time. They take Harry under their wing, treat him like part of their family, and change his life in ways he never imagined.





	When I Run Out of Road

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a little bit of a departure for me (I think). I fell in love with Giraffe Manor after watching a Netflix show on amazing hotels around the world.
> 
> First - huge thank you to my betas Leah and Nadya!
> 
> My origin story for the manor/hotel is NOT the real story. Mine is totally made up.
> 
> Note on colonialism: This fic takes place during the height of British colonialism in Nairobi (if you've ever seen Out of Africa, it's a few years after that). _I do not discuss the problems with racism and settlement in this fic_. If you're looking for a philosophical discussion about that please look elsewhere. I briefly mention that a few of Louis' staff are of African descent, but that's as far as it goes.
> 
> Note on period-typical homophobia: These characters are (in today's terms) in the closet, but out or intending to be out to their families. I tagged it as "Period Typical Attitudes" because that seemed to fit better. There is a mention of one character being mildly homophobic, but it's a discussion of something that happens in the past and it's never explicit.
> 
> If you have any questions, or feel uncomfortable with anything please let me know.
> 
> Thanks!

**PROLOGUE**

**_Somewhere outside Nairobi, Kenya_** **1930**

Verdant grass bent against the wind in waves beyond the tree line, and vast prairies led up to the edge of the dense brush that surrounded the property where a herd of antelope grazed peacefully. A few of the larger growths needed to be cleared away, but for the most part, Mother Nature and her wondrous creatures took care of themselves. Natural landscapers.

On the ground, there were haphazardly placed paving stones with a mix of green grass and weeds emerging between the seams. The stones were the color of iron ore, darker than the sun-bleached dirt of the surface beyond. That same dirt was used to make the bricks of the large structure on the property. The foundational make-up was different, but the effect was much the same: a picturesque reimagining of a quaint country hunting lodge, thousands of miles away from the Scottish highlands it so desired to bring to mind.

Disrepair had fallen on the manor, despite it only having been built ten years before. The builder of the property passed away tragically during the tail end of the construction, so it had never been occupied. It was purchased by a successful farmer and coffee plantation owner Lady Arabella Austin for a fraction of the price, given its rather unfashionable address. The manor was farther away than necessary from the insular colony of British expats in the Hills, which never bothered Lady Arabella. She actively sought out ways to go against the grain of society, moving as far away from its nexus in London as possible. Unfortunately, society followed her to the African continent.

Even more unfortunately, Lady Arabella was struck down by complications from an illness soon after she purchased the property and was never able to enjoy its solitude away from the bustling farm. She had never married and had no direct descendants, so her various minor assets left in England were parsed amongst distant cousins, but her most valuable by far was the plantation which passed to her great-niece Evelyn and her husband as a matter of familial duty.

All that was left was the manor. It was a grand structure to be sure, but given the overgrowth, disuse and general snobbery of the limited society available, the Baron Somers and his wife Lady Evelyn were not in any hurry to fight for their right to inherit it.

It was only fitting that before she passed away Lady Arabella made arrangements to leave her forgotten property to a forgotten member of her family. A cast-off, illegitimate son of a nephew; the only family member to go out of his way to visit her all the way in Africa and stay with her during her last months. He was her favorite family member, with a snappy humor and disregard for society to rival her own. Not much was afforded to him in his early years, but things were on the up, especially after the war.

The manor needed the tender heart and hand of someone who truly valued it, and he would be perfect.

✯✯✯

 

**_Kilindini Harbour, Port of Mombasa, Kenya_ 1932 **

Harry could taste the dust. His mouth was already dry and gritty, and it felt like he had been surrounded by salinity for weeks. Which he had.

He and his fellow passengers stood underneath a veranda with other misplaced British citizens and a smattering of Europeans as well. They were supervising the loading of their luggage onto the carts that would convey them to their train to Nairobi.

Light and airy feminine voices rang like bells high above the sounds of the port around them, and the older gentlemen all looked askance at the young ladies. Harry loved it. Nothing could have reminded him of home more than the sound of young girls having tea. It cast his mind back to their garden in Cheshire with his mother and sister and a few of his sister’s school friends laughing, playing, and lounging in the summer sun.

This time it was the indignant cluck of chickens that drew him out of his daydream. Actual chickens, that was, not the symbolic hens that were the Deakin’s daughters.

Harry was traveling by himself, intent on seeing the world and escaping the vast nothingness of the English countryside, but for the past few weeks, he had been rather thrown together with a large brood that was traveling with him. They had arrived in Naples separately, Harry as a part of a larger tour of Italy, and the Deakins more directly from London.

The journey by boat from Italy had been rocky at first on the Mediterranean before they passed through the Suez Canal but calmed as soon as they hit the Red Sea. There were plenty of other travelers, but he and the Deakins had all taken their meals together on the first day, and Harry had enjoyed the large family’s infectious energy.

Mrs. Deakin had taken Harry, the very singular traveler, under her wing. Thus, they had passed the last few weeks on the water.

The Deakins’ reason for traveling to Africa was twofold as far as Harry could tell. Mr. and Mrs. Deakin were avid sponsors of the Royal Ballet, and the touring company was also aboard their steamer on their way to Nairobi to perform for the very first time, in no small part due to the family’s efforts.

As it turned out, Mrs. Deakin’s eldest son lived and worked outside Nairobi running an inn for European travelers called Giraffe Manor.

“How wonderful!” Harry replied as Mrs. Deakin’s eyes lit up while she described it. Her son Louis had inherited the property a few years before. Always the restless sort - those were Mrs. Deakin’s exact words - he had transformed the manor, hired a staff, and opened the doors to travelers a year ago. Her son had only been at the manor a few weeks when he realized just how many giraffes habitually lived on the grounds. During his refurbishment of the manor, the giraffes grew more and more comfortable with approaching the house, and Louis began a symbiotic relationship with them. He provided feed and treats every morning, and the giraffes were a massive draw for the guests who chose to stay at his inn as opposed to one of the society hotels in town.

Her son had been writing home about it and updating her the entire time, but their sponsorship with the ballet had finally allowed them to take the time to travel.

Mrs. Deakin’s daughter Charlotte was out but promised to a young man, and their next oldest daughter Felicité wasn’t quite out at just barely eighteen, so there would be no interruption in her season, allowing them to spend as much time visiting as they would like.

Now, Harry didn’t want to be impolite, so he didn’t ask, but he had tried his hardest to privately understand the distribution of age. Mrs. Deakin did not look anywhere near old enough to have a son with the experiences she described, and Mr. Deakin looked to be about her age as well.

Four of the girls took after her, but not him, and the two youngest were his spitting image. Harry was in no place to pry, and their dynamic did not hold any tension as far as he could see, so he took it at face value. They were a patchwork family, and that was lovely. Maybe that was also why they were so willing to invite him into the fold. Either way, Harry wasn’t going to question it.

Harry and Mr. Deakin - Dan, as he eventually insisted - spotted the luggage and began to direct the porters to the first class cabin of the Kenya & Uganda Railway that was going to take them all from Mombasa to the capital.

When Harry first planned his trip, he had made arrangements at Muthaiga, but Mrs. Deakin had insisted that he spend his first few days with their family at Giraffe Manor. Harry had politely declined, questioning if her son would have room for an unexpected guest, but she had insisted. Her son had shut down operations, she said, while they all stayed with him. Again, he had tried to be polite, but she had blatantly ignored his modest protests in a way that only a mother could.

She had, in the same vein, done her best to push Harry toward spending time with her daughter Felicité, the debutante to be. When that hadn’t panned out, she had tried her hand at setting him up with some of the more prominent dancers. Harry appreciated her efforts, and while he felt he knew her quite well, he didn’t feel comfortable enough to explain exactly why her efforts would continue to be fruitless.

 

An hour later, when the train was loaded up with passengers, luggage, and trade goods alike, Harry was just settling into his cabin when the car began to move with a heavy jolt, and they chugged their way out into the open countryside.

The window panes were caked with dust, so Harry reached up and did his best to loosen them. When he finally managed to lower the glass, he felt like he could see for miles and miles under the setting sun. Everything in the immediate vicinity of the tracks was flat and drab with very little plant life, but he could see in the distance that the mountains were a hazy blue, a sure sign of hydration.

They called the railway the Iron Snake, as it bisected the plains with no rhyme or reason. Harry knew from weeks of studying maps that as they approached Nairobi, so too would they approach more bodies of water. Many gathered near Nairobi, which allowed for much more luscious greenery.

The sun continued to drop lower as he made his way to the dining car for a light supper. He was alone in the car as the porter fetched his meal, but as he was finishing, the Miss Deakins and their younger brother Ernest began piling into the compartment. Harry had eaten his meal, and there wasn’t enough room in the car, so he bid them goodnight and retired for the evening.

He was still on his journey, so it didn’t quite feel like his expedition to the African continent had begun. Eagerly, he pulled out his travel book to read by lamplight for as long as he could before falling asleep.

 

At dawn, Harry awoke to blue skies and blankets of green. If it weren’t for the odd, flat shapes of the trees he could imagine that he was back in England. Just as he scoffed at the irony of traveling for so many weeks to see more grassy hills, a herd of deer flowed over the side of a ridge. When he looked closer, he could see that their antlers were long and sharp, nothing like the majestic branched pairs of the stags at home. These animals moved as one large shape, out in the open, instead of darting through the forests of Derbyshire.

Harry’s depth perception must have been skewed because when he looked up, he could see birds in the sky, but had no knowledge of their shape or distance away. They could have been sparrows one hundred feet away, or they could have been vultures at five times that distance; the fields extended so far that there was no way for him to know.

The vast steel beast pressed onward through the vegetation as Harry did his best to dress for the day. His clothes were far from pressed and crisp the way they had been when he first set out from Naples, but they would have to do.

Mrs. Deakin was buzzing with excitement. She hadn’t seen her son in two years, and she was becoming more prone to spontaneous bouts of tears. Through her episodes, Mr. Deakin would rub her back and murmur nonsense words of comfort. It pleased Harry to see such a loving couple. He loved his own people, but the Brits weren’t always known for displays of such affection. However, it perfectly suited the Deakins. Harry would certainly miss their boisterous activity when it was time for him to part with them and continue on his own.

The Ngong Hills grew closer on the horizon as the morning progressed. The Deakins and Harry were all growing antsy with the anticipation, neither able to settle in their own compartments. As they drew into the station in Nairobi, activity picked up along the tracks. There were more buildings, more people, and more trees. It was beginning to look like an actual village.

Disembarking from the train wasn’t quite as hectic as boarding in Mombasa had been, but there was a flurry of activity as all of the cargo was offloaded as well as the passengers. Large crates of produce and dry goods were in chief supply, received by men offloading them onto large wagons. Harry had never seen anything quite like it, but he supposed the Muthaiga and other clubs had to get their imported goods from somewhere.

The carriage hired to take their party the two hours on to Giraffe Manor was a tight squeeze as Harry wasn’t a part of the original number, but he, Mr. Deakin, and Ernest managed to squeeze enough that none of the girls were in any kind of compromising position with Harry, the bachelor. Again, Harry smiled to himself at the irony but said nothing.

The carriage set off on rocky, unpaved roads, so Harry did his best settle in the corner of the seat, and keep himself relaxed as he watched the town turn back into countryside again through the window.

 

Harry felt the horses take a hard turn from one rough path onto another. For a brief moment, he worried the carriage would tip too far and topple them over, but with the number of people they had, they successfully weighted it down.

They had long since opened the windows of the carriage in order to let the breeze pass through the small confined space, and with the wind from the speed of the horses, everything was feeling much less confining. It was surreal to be on the very last leg of their journey together after many weeks, and the Deakins had not stopped chattering since they left Nairobi.

Normally, Harry held no issue with excessive chatter, but all the Deakins could talk about was getting to see Louis. Harry had no prior knowledge of him aside from what they had told him on the journey over, so he had nothing to add to the conversation and remained quiet.

The chatter began to rise in tempo and volume as they rounded a bend in the road. Harry could only just make out a bit of brick through the trees. It struck him, again, just how much lush vegetation there was in Africa. He was not uneducated, but many of the expeditions to other parts of the continent brought back drawings and photographs of endless desert.

The reality was beyond Harry’s wildest dreams. And yet, as he got a good look at the manor house on the property, he gasped.

Surrounded by the distinctly African landscape was a building, majestically constructed in red brick, covered with crawling green vines, that looked as though it was straight out of the countryside Harry had left behind.

“How is this possible?” he breathlessly asked the carriage at large. Mrs. Deakin smiled at him and explained the story again of how Louis came to inherit the already constructed, but rundown manor, and how he fixed it up steadily over the course of a year. She had told him the story many times before while they were on their journey, but he hadn’t quite believed her until he saw it himself.

“He must have loved that it reminded him of home,” she finished, misty-eyed. She didn’t get the chance to say anymore as the carriage pulled up to the front of the house and a ruddy-faced man with close-cropped, chestnut hair was skipping down the front steps to greet them.

Phoebe or Daisy (Harry sometimes wasn’t quite sure) was the first to force the carriage door open, not bothering to wait for the driver to fulfill his duty.

“Whe-hey!” The man called, waving his flat cap in one hand. “Welcome, welcome!” His smile was bright in the reflection of the midday sun.

Harry wasn’t sure who the man was, but he could tell, from the Deakins’ collectively reserved reaction, that he wasn’t their Louis.

“Where’s my brother?” Phoebe, or Daisy, demanded. That was another clue. The rest of the family had disembarked from the carriage and were searching the surrounding area fervently.

“He’s on his way, should be here any second,” the man replied with a very distinct Irish brogue. Just as he began to introduce himself further, another figure stumbled through the open doorway at the top of the steps. Harry glanced down for a moment to step carefully out of the carriage, the last passenger to do so, and when he looked up again there was a flurry of hats and parasols being knocked askew with all of the tears and squeals he had initially expected.

The figure - Louis, presumably - being embraced by everyone, had his back to Harry. As the intruder Harry held back, content to watch on amusedly during the very touching and emotional family reunion.

Everyone finally began to calm down, and the crowd parted. Harry began to steel himself for the explanation he would surely need to provide to excuse his unannounced presence. He darted a glance at Mrs. Deakin who would be absolutely no use to anyone given her current hysterical state, brought on by seeing her “baby” again.

It was then that Louis turned to face Harry and everything that Harry had planned to say dried up on the tip of his tongue. Not only was this Louis the most attractive man Harry had ever seen, with windswept hair and a distinguished looking few days’ growth of beard covering his jaw; he was also _Harry’s_ Louis.

Louis Tomlinson. The Louis that Harry had met when he was seven or eight years old and first arrived at school. The Louis that Harry had been friends with up until the start of the war, when Louis, like so many of Harry’s schoolmates, hadn’t come back the year they were supposed to enter year seven in the fall of 1916.

Louis had been Harry’s whole world; his best friend, co-adventurer, confidant, everything. Until he had been unintentionally ripped away from him by needless, intangible violence somewhere in the trenches of France. Harry had been devastated for the first few months of the school year, fed a line about Louis’ stepfather doing his duty to King and country, and had tried to write to Louis so many times, but the letters had all been returned. So many people had been displaced during the war that it was near on impossible to track down one eleven-year-old boy.

And now there he was, standing in front of Harry, no longer that same young boy. He had matured into a man of great regard.

Harry was at a loss for what to say.

“Louis?” he rasped out, less eloquently than he had planned. Louis’ brow furrowed as he eyed Harry with confusion. His face was devoid of any recognition.

While attempting to will his heart to free itself from disappointment, Harry began trying to cobble together an explanation that somehow normalised the emotional upheaval he was experiencing. As he faltered, Louis’ entire countenance cleared.

“Harry?” he replied in disbelief. “Harry Styles? Is that really you?”

The breath stolen from his lungs, Harry could only nod, fearing that his voice would splinter and break. Louis saved him, though, the way he had so many times when they were young. So confident and fearless, he led a young, impressionable Harry into parts unknown, and Harry had willingly followed. This time, Louis ran straight into Harry’s arms, bucking propriety for the sake of an old friend.

Harry let his arms wrap naturally around Louis’ torso and squeezed his eyes shut against the world as he inhaled the natural sun-drenched scent of his long lost best friend, drowning himself in both the familiarity and newness of the sensation.

“I’ve missed you,” Louis whispered in his ear, soothing years of wondering and prayers that nothing had happened to him. The longer Louis clung to Harry, the more he healed the tension Harry held from weeks of travel and discomfort. It all melted away.

Mrs. Deakin cleared her throat from somewhere over Louis’ shoulder, bringing Harry back to reality. He dropped his arms from around Louis’ middle and stepped away.

A variety of feelings warred within him. The most prevalent was relief at seeing Louis. Buried within that relief was shame at having embraced him so intimately. These were modern times to be sure, and despite appearances, they were still in the wilds of Africa, but if Harry had been a woman, their closeness would not have been allowed without the raising of a few eyebrows.

The Deakins were an affectionate bunch, though, and when Harry did finally turn around to face her, Mrs. Deakin was grinning wildly.

“Are you acquainted with each other, then?” she asked, her voice squeaking at the end of the phrase, betraying her excitement.

“Mum,” Louis said affectionately, “Mr. Styles here is _Harry_. My schoolmate,” Louis explained with his eyes barely leaving Harry’s features.

Mrs. Deakin’s expression lifted even more if that was possible. She looked at Harry as though seeing him through fresh eyes and threw her arms out to embrace him again, despite having passed the previous weeks being trapped together by sea and by land.

“Harry? _That_ Harry?” She glanced back and forth between both of them. “Louis spoke about you endlessly when he wasn’t able to go back to school. Everything was ‘Harry, this. Harry, that.’”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Louis turned his head to hide his blush.

“I cannot believe I never made the connection,” she sighed as she continued to squeeze Harry’s arms through the linen of his suit jacket.

Louis cut in gently, “That’s enough, mum. Let Harry breathe in this heat.” Both Harry and Mrs. Deakin ignored his protestations.

“I didn’t make the connection either. I knew Louis as a Tomlinson,” Harry admitted, trying to skirt the potentially awkward topic diplomatically.

“Well, of course, dear. By the time I married Mr. Deakin, Louis was well old enough that he kept Mr. Tomlinson’s name.” She waved away his concerns as the younger twins began to complain about the heat. They were standing out in the mid-afternoon sun, and Harry was beginning to develop a headache from trying to keep Louis in view at all times while battling against the never-ending brightness.

“Shall we all head inside?” The Irishman asked the group at large. Instead of agreeing, everyone simply began to make their way inside. There were a few other staff members of African descent, Harry observed, that began to unload their multitude of baggage from the roof of the carriage.

When they entered the manor house, the temperature dropped to a much more tolerable level and Harry could still feel the breeze moving through the room. The front entryway was small but felt spacious. It was two storeys tall with cream walls and dark wooden paneling. The grand staircase wasn’t very grand, not like one would see at home, but it split on the landing halfway up, with one staircase leading to the left and one to the right. The mezzanine was a series of arches across the top enclosing the hallway that must have led to the guests’ rooms.

Underneath each staircase on either side were small doors. They could have just been storage, but they were just whimsical enough in the otherwise serious-looking manor, that Harry felt the desire to explore tugging at him. It was a desire not unlike the one he used to get when he and Louis would spend their days off from school roaming the grounds, searching for hidden passages.

Young boys with adventurous spirits didn’t understand that those tucked away passages were merely servants’ corridors, meant for easy and unseen travel between buildings. To Harry and Louis, they were an unending, undiscovered labyrinth that could lead anywhere their imagination took them.

Louis had embellished the lobby with large potted plants and artwork that hung on the walls and looked to be of local origin. Both provided wonderful bright splotches of colour against the plain, airy ivory of the walls.

All in all, it took Harry’s breath away. Mrs. Deakin’s as well if Harry was interpreting her renewed blubbering correctly. She was a font of motherly pride that continued to overflow every time they encountered something new.

The group huddled in the entryway as Louis hopped up on the step and clapped his hands together once. “Everyone, this is Niall Horan the Irish rogue who also serves as the duty manager of the property and helps me when there are guests,” he pointed towards the man who had assisted with their arrival. “The last guests left yesterday, so we do have the grounds to ourselves for however long you would like to stay, mother,” he nodded to Mrs. Deakin directly and smiled unbearably fondly.

Introductions finished, Louis began rattling off various room assignments. Harry was sure he was meant to be paying attention, but it was still a shock. He let himself get lost in watching the way Louis spoke, how his face changed expressions so rapidly as he addressed each of his siblings in turn, the way he moved, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hip to hip, pacing across the bottom step. Everything about him was animated, and it was so beautiful to observe that it bordered on painful for Harry. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of the ache in his chest. Perhaps it was nostalgia? That was the most logical explanation.

Being so lost in his thoughts, he was startled when the small crowd they had formed began to disperse. Small feet were pounding up the staircase to one side, with Doris’ bright red hair glinting in the sunlight that was streaming in from the upper windows.

“I have to retrieve the key for your rooms, but if you meander slowly, I should be along presently,” Louis said quietly, stepping off his perch where he had been commanding attention and moving to stand directly in front of Harry.

His directive implied many things, but most of all it implied that Harry was supposed to have listened when Louis was giving out room assignments. He hadn’t been, so he would have to ask again, and he could only hope that Louis wouldn’t be able to suss out why Harry was utterly clueless.

“And where might my room be?” Harry could feel the blush rising on his cheeks as Louis’ grin turned into a knowing smirk. Maybe Louis would think it was flush from the heat.

“There is a small garden house next door, and there is a set of rooms for you there,” Louis said with the air of someone repeating themselves. “My family has taken over the rooms in this building, and I thought you might enjoy the sanctuary. They can be overwhelming.” Louis’ implication could have been perceived as negative, but in reality, he was beaming from ear to ear. Harry could feel Louis’ joy at having his family nearby once again.

“Right, of course. Next door,” Harry replied.

“I’ve already sent the porters over with your bags, they should be upstairs. I believe my mother has already rung for tea to be served in a quarter of an hour if you would like to freshen up and join us on the terrace at the back of the house.”

Harry had gotten lost once again in watching the way Louis’ lips moved.

“Harry?” Louis asked barely controlling his laughter now. “You must be tired. I’ll just go and fetch your key.”

“Tea would be lovely,” Harry blurted out as Louis turned to leave.

“I’ll be sure to expect you, then,” Louis smirked and gave Harry an almost imperceptible wink before heading off in search of the promised key. Louis had divested of his suit jacket at some point and was only wearing a soft cotton dress shirt tucked into light linen pants that were belted at his waist. Harry’s throat was arid when he caught a glimpse of the way the soft material clung to Louis’ backside.

Harry watched the doorway for much too long after Louis had passed through it before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He needed to find his rooms, and to do that, he needed to find the garden house.

He stepped back through the front entrance where the heavy door was still propped open, and while in front of him he only saw the circular drive they had entered by, off to his right there was a path that led to a hedged area where the leaves of the vines blended into the trees behind, slightly masking a second brick structure. If that was not the garden house, Harry was utterly lost.

The brick pathway, with red clay rising between the bricks instead of the English moss he would normally expect, was neatly set into a pathway next to the house. Harry decided to follow it, and when he turned the corner he was faced with a nice garden with various plants and hedges interspersed with species of flowers he had never seen before. He couldn’t wait to sketch them to show his mother and sister when he went home. His mother loved flowers, loved her garden. She tended to it consistently, and would trade seeds and saplings amongst her friends; the flora of Africa would be endlessly fascinating for her.

While he wanted to freshen up promptly, he chose to extend his path and follow the neatly squared maze through the plants as he made his way to the door of the garden house. True to his word, by the time Harry opened the door of the house, Louis was standing in the parlour waiting for him.

“There you are, Harold,” Louis said, relieved. Harry flushed again at the use of his childhood nickname, given and only used by Louis. “I wasn’t sure if you tripped and split your head open again.”

Louis was once again laughing at him. With all of the excess warmth his body was providing to his cheeks and neck independently of the high temperatures outside, Harry was beginning to wonder if calenture was somewhere in his future.

“Nothing of the sort, just admiring your garden,” Harry replied.

“Thank you, but that’s all Niall’s doing. Gardening is a passion of his, and he’s taken to this one,” Louis added.

Silence fell between the two of them, both devoid of polite topics of conversation usually meant for such an occasion. Harry could feel everything that he wanted to say weighing heavily on his tongue, but he held himself back in fear of making more of the situation than was warranted.

Louis broke the silence first. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said softly, reaching out to hand Harry his key. “Your rooms are upstairs on the left. But please, do come out for tea. I promise you won’t want to miss it.”

Harry swallowed down his words and nodded as he watched Louis pivot and walk away for the second time in less than a quarter of an hour.

When Louis was no longer in view, Harry turned towards the stairs and climbed up to his room. The architecture mirrored that of the main house. Based on what Mrs. Deakin had told him about the state of disrepair the property had been in, Harry couldn’t help but admire the extent to which Louis had refurbished the buildings. The result was welcoming and luxurious but also somehow cozy. Harry couldn’t wait to rest and relax in the sitting room area that made up the majority of the ground floor of his house. The main house was sure to have places for that as well should he desire more sociability.

The bedroom on the left, as Louis had directed him, was spacious and airy to emulate the interior of the main house. There was a large, sturdy, four poster bed standing proudly in the middle of the room swathed in thin netting; panels were gathered at each post ready to be released and draped around him while he slept. Harry knew that the netting was purely for practical purposes, but its delicacy lent an air of fairytale to the atmosphere.

All of the wooden furniture in the room was made of thick planks and stained a dark colour. It was rough-hewn and nothing like the delicate ornamental details that were de rigueur at home.

Harry’s bags were waiting for him, tucked away next to the large wardrobe and ready for him to unpack. Having observed both Louis and Niall foregoing their jackets, he felt he was well within the bounds of propriety to forego his. He stripped his clothes off and tossed them in the woven basket for the maid to take in the morning, choosing to put on a set of linen pants and a light cotton dress shirt to mirror Louis’.

Through the open window, Harry could hear murmurs of conversation indicating that everyone else must be gathering for tea. He quickly grabbed his jacket to bring with him - not quite ready to leave it behind entirely - and descended the stairs once again exiting through the garden. When he had searched for his room he had gone around the front of the house, but the voices seemed to be coming from somewhere else. There were no time restrictions on him now, aside from the desire to be punctual, so he followed the noises to the best of his ability.

Turning the other way down the path, he made his way around the side of the manor and was immediately taken aback. In front of him were wide open plains and on both sides of him were sparse trees with clusters of branches that created flat layers as opposed to the tall bushy oak trees of the English countryside. The same red clay he had seen everywhere filled out the majority of the ground near the house and back veranda, but just beyond, it blended into larger patches of tall grass.

Standing there, on the veranda in the middle of it all, were the Deakins, who all had their heads craned back, admiring the utterly majestic and overwhelming sight of two giraffes.

Shocked as he was, Harry couldn’t bring himself to move. He simply watched as one of the giraffes bent its head down, nosing towards Doris’ small, outstretched hand. The animal opened its jaw slightly and unfurled a long gray tongue, gobbling up whatever treats she had to offer. Her squeal and subsequent giggles pierced the air as the giraffe nudged her now empty hand in search of more food.

Harry had never seen a seven-year-old more delighted than at that moment.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Louis asked, startling Harry.

“Incredible,” Harry replied without thinking, finally turning away from the view of the animals to watch Louis’ profile as he watched his family interact with them in turn.

“This is why I never left.”

They let silence reign for another moment as they continued to observe the Deakins playing with the giraffes. The air between them was weighted with the sixteen years it had been since they had last seen each other. Harry was still searching for the right way to start the conversation, but what question should he start with? He felt as though he had an infinite amount, but no real direction as to what he wanted to know.

Taking a deep breath in, he tried to form a question, any question, but before he could the attendants began to serve tea.

While the Deakins of all ages were torn between the giraffes and the refreshments, Louis walked across the veranda to join their party, and once again Harry’s chance at having a deeper conversation with Louis floated away with the breeze.

There were enough chairs to accommodate their usual paying guests, so there were enough for all of the siblings to sit down for tea in the shade of the manor if they so wished. Mrs. Deakin attempted to gather them, but very quickly threw up her hands and allowed them to tend and feed the animals. All of Louis’ sisters were enraptured with them, and his sister Felicité mentioned not missing her horses from home as much given the giraffes’ similar levels of intelligence and affection.

Harry had a strong cup of tea, in a real teacup, sitting outside in a garden, for the first time in a long time. No boat rocking, no dust flying, no smell of horses; there was a beautiful view, and he was fond of his company in so many ways. He leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet out, relishing in the civility of it all. He prided himself on being an adventurous and independent traveler, but sometimes one just needed to take tea in a garden with company at hand.

They had all skipped their midday meal, so they partook in the light sandwiches and biscuits with vigour. Finally, the novelty of feeding the giraffes wore off for human and animal alike, and everyone settled into the serenity of a slightly cooler afternoon.

The conversation had lapsed as well until Louis began asking Mr. and Mrs. Deakin about the ballet company, inquiring as to where they were staying in Nairobi, where they would be performing, and the like.

Harry’s eyes began to drift closed and he couldn’t help the haze of unconsciousness that threatened to overtake him.

 

An indeterminate amount of time later, Harry could feel a hand on his shoulder, lightly jostling him.

“Harold? Are you in there somewhere?” Harold? The only person to call him that had been Louis from school…

“Haaaarooold,” the voice sing-songed, dragging Harry fully back to reality where it all came crashing back. Harry blinked his eyes open, expecting the same mid-afternoon sun that he had left behind. Instead, he was met with the most beautiful blood-red sunset. “There you are,” Louis added warmly.

Harry bolted upright. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me,” he blurted out fighting against his arid throat. He couldn’t believe he had fallen completely asleep.

Louis’ face was inches from his own, still speaking in hushed tones. “That’s quite alright. You’re sure to be exhausted from your long journey here, and the heat will do it to anyone. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Harry nodded and reached for his now lukewarm tea to take a sip and quench his thirst.

“Good, then. I also wanted you to see this,” Louis added gesturing to the gorgeous horizon line. Like an illustration come to life, there were two giraffes silhouetted in the distance blocked out against the diminished brightness of the sun.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” Harry replied in wonder.

Louis settled himself back into the chair next to Harry. No one else was around, many probably choosing to take their afternoon naps in their actual beds as opposed to out in the open.

“I must remember to apologise to your mother at the evening meal,” he said.

“Whatever for?” Louis scoffed. “She has seven children and took care of most of us on her own without a governess or nursery maid. There is nothing that can surprise or offend her by now,” he added.

Seizing the moment, Harry asked what had been on his mind since he and Louis had first seen each other again. “Is that how you came to be at school?”

Louis stared down at his hands in his lap for a moment, contemplating his answer. “Yes, in a way. My tuition was sponsored in part by the remainder of my grandfather’s estate. It had been put aside solely for my education.”

“And then the war hit?” Harry asked, quietly.

“When conscription was instituted, my stepfather got the call and we had to move. I finished school somewhere else.”

Harry let that sink in for a moment. It was nothing beyond what he had suspected, but there was a small piece of him that had wondered when they were younger if Louis had abandoned Harry because of something he had done. If somehow, Louis hadn’t come back to school because Harry hadn’t written him over the summer holidays, despite never having written each other between previous school years, or if he had offended Louis in some way unintentionally.

At the time he had dismissed it easily, once compulsory military service had been explained to him when so many of his other schoolmates hadn’t returned either, but there was still something that settled within him at the confirmation sixteen years later.

“I always guessed, but…” Harry trailed off, not sure what to say, not sure how much to reveal.

“I’m sorry to have done that to you.”

Harry shook his head immediately and shifted in his chair so that he and Louis were facing each other. “It wasn’t your fault, Lou.”

“I sent letters to the school when I could,” Louis said, clearing his throat.

That shocked Harry. “Did you? I never received them.” Suddenly, his heart ached for his younger self and the letters from a young Louis that could exist somewhere in the world, even now.

Louis let out a bitter laugh, “That doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t think that stuffy old arse Hargraves would ever actually give them to you, but I could hope. Then when you didn’t respond, I knew why.”

“Dean Hargraves?” Harry was even more confused now. “What has he got to do with anything?”

Louis met his gaze head on for a moment before bashfully looking away again. “He and I did not have a very good relationship.”

Harry chucked briefly thinking about Louis the prankster. If there was ever anyone stirring up trouble on the grounds, he was always the first suspect.

“Then at the end of summer holidays, right before we moved, my mother and I went in to meet with him. It didn’t end well. I suspect he didn’t deliver my letters for that very reason.” Louis’ tone was grim and resigned, as though he had this conversation with himself many times over the years.

Again, Harry was at a loss for what to say, but this time it was Niall who saved him.

“Gents,” he said from the veranda doors behind them. “How are we out here?”

The sun had dipped even lower, barely visible now over the horizon. Dusk had blanketed everything around them.

Both Harry and Louis turned in their chairs to greet him. Niall and Louis exchanged some small talk regarding a maintenance issue on the property, but Harry wasn’t really listening. He let his mind wander instead to what had gone wrong with Dean Hargraves. If Louis had known he wasn’t coming back to school, why then had he met with him one last time?

“Dinner service will be in an hour,” Niall said, turning to walk away.

“Thank you, Niall,” Louis replied. When his figure slipped into the shadow that now blanketed the side of the house, Harry turned to Louis once again.

“Am I keeping you from anything?” he asked.

“No, of course not. My staff is so capable, they only need me around as a figurehead. Something of which they love to remind me,” Louis said wryly.

Harry was glad the tension in his shoulders seemed to have lifted, and he didn’t want to bring up Hargraves or school again for fear of bringing it back.

“How did all of this come to be, then?” he asked instead, gesturing expansively to the whole property laid out in front of them.

“Well, that is an age-old tale, Harold.”

Louis launched into the story of his nobleman father who had an affair with Louis' mother and then refused to acknowledge him and his legitimacy. His father’s aunt, Lady Arabella, was the one who pursued the desire to stay in contact with both Louis and his mother, saying that she admired Johannah - Mrs. Deakin’s - strength of character.

As a young boy, Louis visited her a few times a year until she moved to Kenya. When he got word of her illness, he made the journey down himself, leaving his family behind. Then, when she passed, there wasn’t much she could leave him without upsetting all of her direct, and legitimate, descendants. The property that was to become Giraffe Manor had been undesirable at the time, so they had not fought his claim to it.

The floodgates had opened between them. They continued to talk for hours as the rest of the world around them became drenched in the inky black of the night sky, and stars scattered throughout the heavens. Absently, Harry recognised that Niall must have lit the small lanterns behind them when he had interrupted them earlier, but he didn’t remember that explicitly.

It wasn’t until they were attempting to identify constellations, and Louis was inventing his own ridiculous names for them, that Harry’s stomach rumbled.

“Are you hungry, Harold?” Louis teased. Harry brought his hand down to his abdomen as they both snickered. They simultaneously halted their movements and stared at each other.

“Dinner,” Harry breathed out. Niall had said it would be an hour, but that had been ages ago. They had to have missed the meal entirely, leaving Louis’ family to fend for themselves.

In a display of synchronicity, they lept for the french doors and Louis rushed for the dining room with Harry hot on his tail.

When they arrived it was to an empty room with an equally empty table; there was only a stack of clean plates on the sideboard, ready and waiting for a maid to store them for the night.

They stared at each other again, this time guiltily. Mrs. Deakin’s laughter rang out in the stillness of the room, echoing through the house. Louis nodded and indicated that Harry should follow him.

Harry was able to finally see the main rooms of the manor in their entirety now but wasn’t in the state of mind to admire everything that Louis had done with the space.

“Mother,” Louis said apologetically as they entered the sitting room through the open doorway.

“Darling!” she replied warmly, as though they had arrived precisely on time, not missed a four-course meal. “How nice of you to join us.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Deakin,” Harry exclaimed.

“Nonsense, Harry. You two had a lot of catching up to do, and we didn’t want to disturb you. I’ve just met your absolutely lovely chef,” she directed at Louis, “and he has put aside plates for the both of you.”

Harry and Louis continued to hover in the doorway, unsure if they should do the polite thing and stay with the family in the parlour, or go retrieve their dinners.

“Go, shoo!” Mrs. Deakin said, waving her arms at them. “Be gone.”

Louis nudged Harry with his shoulder and they both came forward to press kisses to Mrs. Deakin’s cheek as they bid her goodnight. From there, he once again led the way as Harry followed through to the kitchen, like they were ten years old again in search of contraband biscuits.

When they reached the kitchen, Louis introduced Harry to the “lovely” chef David, and they were served around the small table tucked in the corner of the room.

Sixteen years was a long time, longer than Phoebe and Daisy had been alive, Harry mused, but it still felt as though not a single day had passed since he had last seen Louis. After their initial meeting, Harry had been apprehensive. Now, though, sitting across the small table from him, eating cold, soggy leftover vegetables, he let himself bask in Louis’ presence the way he used to when they would lay out in the sun-drenched grass on the first real warm days of spring, fighting off the cabin fever that came from English winters.

“Come on, Harold. It’s time for bed. Breakfast comes early here at Giraffe Manor,” Louis sighed, rising from his seat and pushing in his chair.

“I used to have to drag you to the dining hall in the morning by your ear. You hated breakfast.”

“Ah, yes, but here we usually have a few very large guests,” Louis pointed out, pausing at the bottom of a small, tucked away staircase. “Makes it worth the ungodly hour.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. The giraffes, of course.

Louis stepped closer into Harry’s space, and his head tilted back ever so slightly. “I’m really glad you’re here it’s been amazing. I cannot believe that you of all people washed up at my front door.” He reached one hand up to squeeze Harry’s arm.

“Me too, Lou,” Harry replied.

They stared each other for another moment without saying anything. There was something in Louis’ gaze that Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he didn’t want to ask for fear of ruining the beautiful evening they shared. He could feel the heat of Louis’ palm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it made him want to lean into it, absorbing the warmth that Louis seemed to constantly emanate.

Harry took a step back, putting some distance between them. His thoughts were both dangerous and inappropriate, no matter how strong their friendship used to be.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Goodnight,” Louis said, turning to climb the narrow staircase that presumably led to his own rooms.

Navigating to the front of the house and the exit to his isolated garden house, Harry shook his head, hoping to erase all of the thoughts that continued to bubble up in his mind. Louis was his host. Louis was his best friend from childhood. Louis now was older, a different person.

_Was he, though?_

The small voice in the back of Harry’s head refused to be quieted as he readied himself to retire. He lay awake for much longer than he meant to that night, unsure of how to stop the spiral of his thoughts.

 

The porter was in much too early with a good, strong coffee for Harry. Kenyan coffee was rich and slightly bitter, and Harry had never tasted anything like it. The man also reminded Harry that the actual meal would be served in the breakfast room in the main house.

Harry thanked him and donned his shirt and pants again. He wouldn’t even bother bringing the suit jacket with him this time. It was cool now, but he knew it would be hot again momentarily.

When he exited the garden house, there was a small door open on the side of the main house that he hadn’t seen yet. He could hear voices and the clang of silverware. He took a chance and entered through it, straight into what looked to be a converted terrace. The exterior wall was entirely made up of windows that were thrown open. As Harry began greeting everyone, there was suddenly a large nose poking its way through a window directly over one of the breakfast tables.

Harry took a seat next to Louis, watching as the family, spread out across the various tables, gleefully lifted their hands up to the giraffe mouths.

Having not fed any of them yet, Harry leaned in to reach across Louis and grab some pellets without thinking. His breath hitched for a moment at their closeness, but thankfully everyone else, including Louis, was distracted by the fourteen-foot mammals in their midst. Harry really needed to get a handle on his newfound attraction to Louis if he could, especially after last night.

There were so many factors at play, they made Harry dizzy. Louis was unmarried, that much was certain. It was possible he was courting someone that he was waiting to introduce to his family, or that he had asked to stay away because there was an “intruder” amongst them. Neither of those explanations seemed plausible, but matter what Harry never stood a chance.

For all that Louis was mischievous, or gregarious, when they were young, he had never acted like the other boys that possessed those same qualities; as though the women in their lives were simply lightskirts to be toyed with. There were openings when talking about the visiting ballet dancers or other acquaintances, where he certainly could have made that impression, but he had said nothing leading or untoward. Definitely a change from Harry’s friends at university.

For many reasons, he had always felt out of place with them. The only time he hadn’t felt even slightly out of place with his friends had been with Louis.

Again, now was not the time for those thoughts. Instead, Harry focused on the animal in front of him that was unfurling her tongue and eating straight out of his hand.

“Her name is Daisy,” Louis announced.

“What, brother?” Daisy turned around in her chair.

“The giraffe. Her name is Daisy. I named them all after you. Charlotte just recently had a baby boy named Ernest, so the next baby will be Doris,” Louis beamed at all of them.

Doris’ eyes lit up at the prospect of having a baby giraffe named after her.

Breakfast further derailed from there by the arrival of their own human food. The table was in a state of chaos, even more so after Mrs. Deakin announced that the opening of the ballet was in a week and they would all be attending the performance and reception in Nairobi.

Harry was glad he always traveled with at least one formal outfit, otherwise, he would have been horribly underdressed. He could have borrowed something of Louis’, but he suspected the trousers would all have been a bit too short. He informed Louis of his dilemma and was met with a handful of giraffe pellets to the face.

 

That was how his days continued at Giraffe Manor - leisurely. They had breakfast with the giraffes, and then he would read or play games with Louis’ younger siblings. Occasionally, he would accompany Louis on tours around the grounds or on errands to help with the upkeep of the manor.

Harry’s favorite afternoons, though, were the ones he and Louis spent together in his study. Harry would read, relax, write in his journal, all while Louis worked on the books. Even though there weren’t paying guests, it was still like running an estate at home, which Harry was experienced in after learning from his own mother. He would offer advice, or they would sit and reminisce and talk about the years they had missed. It was calm. Peaceful.

 

Finally, it was time for the entire party to do themselves up for the opening of the ballet in Nairobi. They all dressed to the nines, the girls in satin and lace and the men in black coats and tails - even Ernest, who was wearing his first tailcoat.

Niall would be driving them in place of their regular driver so he could take care of some things in town while they were at the party. Once again, they squished into the large carriage. Louis, this time, sat up front with Niall in the driver’s seat as there wasn’t any extra room.

The two-hour drive was the longest they had gone without direct contact since Harry’s arrival in Kenya, at least during their waking hours. Harry was doing his best not to be disappointed. He had gone sixteen years, surely he could handle two hours. Four, if they took into account the return journey.

When they arrived at the theater attached to the Muthaiga Club, Harry was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of British and European audience members. He knew that there was a substantial population, but they had made their way out to Louis’ land so quickly that they hadn’t actually interacted with anyone else.

They were seated in a box of prominence, given the invaluable part Mr. and Mrs. Deakin had played in bringing the company to the continent.

All of the members of their party settled down in their seats, waiting for the performance to begin, and Harry truly couldn't tell that he was in Kenya and not London. The only difference between the two was the sparseness of the ornamental decoration around the theatre. On the West End, there would have been far more.

Harry looked to his right and saw a cluster of men and women absolutely dripping in jewels and furs.

“That’s the notorious ‘Happy Valley’ set,” Louis murmured in his ear. Harry had heard of them, stories of their antics having reached the gossips back home for the first time more than ten years prior.

For some reason, coming to Kenya, it had never occurred to him that he would actually run into them. Had it not been for the Deakins, he also probably would not have attended the ballet or any other society of the sort.

They were the sort of over-privileged people Harry hated from school and university - all lands and titles and needlessly throwing away money.

“Do you see them often?” Harry asked.

“They sometimes bring their friends and stay at the manor, especially when people visit from home. I try and make myself scarce,” Louis grunted.

Harry was now endlessly curious. “Are any of the rumours true?”

“Many of them,” Louis nodded. “I don’t like how they treat the natives that they force to work for them.”

“That’s awful,” Harry whispered.

Louis’ spine went ramrod straight as one of the women turned to look at them. “I also get sick of feeling like prey, backed into a corner any time they come around. They drag anyone they want to into these ridiculous, adulterous games of theirs.”

“The women, they’ve tried...?” Harry asked, letting the sick feeling in his stomach fester and grow.

“And the men,” Louis said, voice even lower.

Harry was shocked into silence. For some reason, the idea of the men coming onto Louis made him even more jealous as though they were even more of a threat, even when he knew they were nothing of the sort.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry breathed out.

“It’s alright. I don’t turn down the money that they love to throw around, so I just try and stay locked in my study.”

“And that works?” Harry inquired.

Louis smiled. “They’re bored of me now. I’ve rejected all of them enough over the past year or so that they’ve stopped trying. That’s how they work. They get bored. Always bored,” he repeated dramatically

“That’s a blessing,” Harry replied as the lights went down and the music began.

For all that they were six thousand miles away from home, the dancers were spectacular, and Harry thoroughly enjoyed the performance. He loved the passion and emotion they had been able to show in their wordless retelling of _Romeo and Juliet_. He didn’t much care for the story, but he found it endlessly fascinating that he was able to understand it through movement the same way he had when it had been recited.

The reception afterward was in the banquet hall of the club next door. It was nice to see the dancers up close and catch up on how their time in Africa had been so far. They had spent so much time at sea, cramped together, that it was nice to have had some distance between them. Or so Harry thought.

Mrs. Deakin, however, was back to her matchmaking attempts almost as soon as they entered the room. Everyone was done up in their formal wear, and she took the opportunity to continue pushing young ladies of every size, shape, and style in Harry’s direction.

Louis watched on with laughter in his eyes at his mother’s exploits.

After the tenth young woman was presented to him - this one French - doomed to let the conversation wither and die, Harry excused himself.

He was splashing some water on his face, trying to consider what he would say to Mrs. Deakin when the door to the lavatory opened.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” Louis said, disingenuously.

Harry tried to smother his smile. “No, you’re not.”

Louis held his palms out in defense, “I really am. Truly. It’s amusing, but I know it can’t be fun to be on the receiving end of it.”

Harry’s heart began to race as he realised something; “Why does she never try to set you up?”

“Hmm. Well, that’s a story for another time, dear Harold. Let’s get back out there and have some champagne. That should make it easier,” he smiled, letting the little crinkles by his eyes deepen.

“I think I’ve already had too much champagne,” Harry complained as he noticed the edges of the looking glass start to get a bit fuzzy.

“Nonsense, one can never have too much champagne,” Louis exclaimed grandly before they proceeded to do just that.

Harry vaguely remembered nodding off on the ride home as Daisy and Phoebe argued about how romantic the story of _Romeo and Juliet_ was while their sister Felicité claimed it was pure drivel.

Somehow he made it to bed, but the next morning when they were all up at the crack of dawn to feed the giraffes, neither Harry nor Louis could be roused from either of their rooms to partake.

When they eventually made it down just in time for the midday meal, Harry groaned at Louis under his breath. “This is your fault.”

“That’s a lie,” Louis grunted in response. “No, it’s not.”

“No, it’s not. Wait. Did you just argue with yourself?” Harry was very confused, and he could barely hear over the pounding in his head.

“This is why the ‘Happy Valley’ crew isn’t for me,” Louis whined in discomfort. “Can you imagine adding opiates to this mix? It’s not worth it.”

“Or we’re just getting old,” Harry grumbled.

“We’re only twenty-seven. Hardly that old,” Louis pushed Harry’s shoulder, nearly sending him toppling over.

Harry scoffed, “I don’t know, you were looking for an explanation.”

“Was I?”

“No more champagne,” Harry declared lightly, in deference to their matching headaches.

 

The next day the hangover had passed, but his worry hadn’t. He tried to let himself relax into the day, and they picked up their fairly languid routine as it had been, but he couldn’t get rid of the guilt that had taken root in the back of his mind. He was trying to curl up in an armchair in Louis’ study, but he couldn’t get comfortable.

“Why are you rustling over there?” Louis asked without lifting his eyes from the ledger in front of him.

Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. “Do you think your mother will be severely disappointed if I never take her up on any of her matchmaking ventures?”

Louis dropped his pen and turned around to face him. “What?”

Harry sighed and let his head fall back against the high wing of the chair. “She’s the most wonderful woman, but it’s not ever going to work.”

“How so?” Louis furrowed his brow, and Harry only then realised the corner he had backed himself into.

“Erm… Well… I just, don’t think it’s easy to find someone through an arrangement, I mean,” he replied, fidgeting even more than he had been before.

Louis’ confusion melted a bit. “She means well. I also think she figures it’s a numbers game. The more women she presents to you, the more likely it is that one of them will stick.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s a rather clinical way of looking at it.”

Louis smiled at Harry fondly. “Harold, she just loves love and wants it for you - for anyone she cares about. She feels you’re too old to not be with someone by now.”

“Weren’t you the one who said just the other day that we weren’t old?” Harry asked, affronted. “Also, I’m the same age as you!”

Louis clammed up again. “I know, but as I said, she thinks I’m a lost cause if I had to wager a guess.”

“How can you say that, Louis?” Harry’s heart ached with the way Louis seemed to dismiss himself so readily as a match for anyone. He was kind, loyal, attractive, had independent means as well as an inheritance. Harry couldn’t see how he wasn’t plastered all over the city as the most eligible bachelor on the African continent.

“Don’t worry about it, Harold,” Louis replied, smiling tightly. “Speaking of my mother, I’d forgotten a question I need to ask her,” he said brusquely, making his way towards the open door.

Harry supposed they needn’t spend _every_ waking moment together, and it was totally reasonable for Louis to need to talk to his mother. But he had never before felt so thoroughly dismissed by him. It was almost as though Louis was running away from him.

 

Louis never came back to his study and wasn’t present for luncheon. Harry felt chastised enough that he escaped to his room under the guise of an afternoon nap, but couldn’t help reemerging for tea in order to avoid suspicion or inquiries into the state of his health.

When he found the rest of the family on the veranda, he couldn’t help but ask Mrs. Deakin, “Have you seen Louis this afternoon?”

“No, darling, not since breakfast,” she replied, lazily flipping a page in her book.

Hurt shot through Harry on instinct. Louis had lied to him about asking his mother a question and had now disappeared.

“Why do you ask?” She turned to him, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I haven’t seen him either,” he replied.

“Oh,” Mrs. Deakin was taken aback. “That _is_ odd, isn’t it? But I’m sure he and Niall are off somewhere taking care of something.”

That didn’t do much to allay Harry’s fears that Louis was avoiding him for some reason. In fact, nothing could, until both Louis and Niall reappeared for dinner asking Harry where he had been all day, and Louis acted as though he had gone looking for him in the study, and nothing at all untoward was going on between them. He went about talking, joking, laughing, carrying on as normal.

The explanation that they had simply missed each other in the study when Louis had returned didn’t completely mollify Harry nor account for the rest of the day, but it did help to soothe some of his worry. After all, Louis wasn’t obligated to constantly entertain Harry. Harry had just become accustomed to it.

 

Gradually over the following days, he and Louis fell back into their routine completely. It truly felt as though that entire day of avoidance had never happened. There was no change in demeanour or lack of confidence from Louis ever again.

Harry was perplexed but grateful, and soon he had completely forgotten about it. He had grown so comfortable in his residency at Giraffe Manor that he had no desire to venture out. There had been a tentative plan in place for him to go on safari with a guide, but all it had taken was one plea from Louis and the Deakins. He was powerless to resist them and their kindness, so he had sent word ahead that he would not be joining.

If he was being honest with himself, it was Louis. Now that he had found his old friend again, it was getting more and more difficult to even consider leaving.

The manor was a paradise of sorts. He was a welcome guest, there were beautiful animals roaming the grounds that he could interact with without fear, and the company was wonderful - certainly never boring. Niall had become a fast friend, and the three of them made occasional trips into the city when necessary.

Harry was glad they had saved him from his time at the Muthaiga club, really. Left by himself there, he surely would have gotten bored rather quickly given that the majority of the company there was indeed the other society expats.

He would have thought to avoid them entirely, but Mrs. Deakin had other plans.

 

One afternoon, they were taking tea on the veranda as they always did. Doris and Ernest were running about playing tag in the field - there were no giraffes in sight - and Daisy and Phoebe had just come back from God only knows where, when she announced it.

“We’re going to host a house party,” Mrs. Deakin declared triumphantly.

Louis, who had only just taken a sip of tea, choked on it. “A what?” he asked around a cough.

“A garden party. House party. For all of the ballet company, and others of course. To honour the last performance.”

Harry stilled. The last performance of the ballet company meant that the Deakins would be leaving soon. Given how long Harry had overstayed his welcome so far, it was only natural that he leave with them. He wouldn’t want to cause any further interference in Louis’ business, but the idea of leaving him made his heart ache.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve already started inviting everyone. I’ve cleared it with the manager of the company,” she said dismissively.

“Well, that would have been nice to know, mum,” Louis replied snarkily.

“Oh hush, now. I’m inviting only the best of society. It will do wonders for the hotel.”

Mrs. Deakin launched into her plans, explaining what each one of them would be responsible for in regards to preparations.

Charlotte and Harry would be in charge of creating floral arrangements from the garden to decorate.

Louis still looked skeptical. “And when, pray tell, is this happening?”

“Monday,” Mrs. Deakin replied as though it was the only obvious answer.

“Oh, of course,” Louis conceded sarcastically. They had little more than four days to get everything in order. Then, it couldn’t be long before the Deakins were set to leave.

Harry didn’t really know for sure, had never asked for clarification when Mrs. Deakin had answered him all those weeks ago at sea with an enigmatic answer of, “When the ballet does.”

To be fair, at the time, he didn’t think those plans would affect him so deeply.

 

The next day, Harry was up in his room after breakfast finishing a letter home to his sister and her husband. He was meant to be gathering flora with Charlotte any minute now, so he put the finishing touches on it before sealing and addressing the envelope. The letter contained a complete retelling of everything that had happened since he had been in Africa. He was writing to his mother regularly, under the assumption that she was relaying all of his news to Gemma, but if he knew his sister, she would prefer her own account.

It pained him to think that his letter would probably reach home only a week before he did if everything went according to plan with their departure.

Harry stood up from his secretary and pushed the chair in, grabbing the pair of gardening gloves that Niall had lent him a few weeks prior. He had been using them in pursuit of his studies and illustrations that he had gathered to bring home for his mother.

Bounding down the steps to the ground floor intent on making every moment he had left in Kenya count, he halted in his tracks just before the open doorway.

Louis and Charlotte’s voices floated up from the garden just beyond, and it was clear they hadn’t seen or heard Harry yet.

“I just wish she would leave Fizzy well enough alone,” Charlotte whined. Fizzy was a nickname he often heard the siblings use for their sister Felicité. “I understand that she’s in search of a project, but Fizzy is only just eighteen. There’s plenty of time.”

Louis chimed in, “Mum’s been after Harry as well, Lottie. You should have seen her at the ballet.”

Harry was feeling guilty about eavesdropping, especially now, given that they were talking about him.

“She started out with the two of them on the boat, you know?” Harry blushed at the reminder of it, again, all those weeks ago on their trip by sea. There hadn’t been a specific reason why he hadn’t told Louis about it, per se. The matchmaking just seemed to be a touchy subject for him. Harry also didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and let him think that he was actually interested in marrying Felicité.

“No, I did not know,” Louis replied tersely. Silence descended for a moment, and Harry could hardly breathe.

“Oh, Lou,” Charlotte sighed, “I’m sorry.” Her voice was heavy and comforting. Harry wished he could see them to try and understand why her tone sounded the way it did, to see what Louis’ reaction was to warrant such a response.

“It’s alright, Lottie,” Louis replied, taking a deep breath. “I’m just glad I never had to bear the brunt of it.”

Harry could hear the birds chirping and a few insects whizzing by; he was sure that if even a pin dropped, they would know he was there. Louis had not wanted to explain himself to Harry, but would he do so to Lottie, or did she already know?

“I understand, but I also wish I could see you settled. With a family, the way you’ve always wanted,” she clarified.

“Thank you, sissy, but that’s not in the cards for me.” Louis’ voice broke towards the end of the sentence, and Harry wanted to run to him. He wanted to demand that Louis tell him what this invisible blockade was that was keeping him from starting a family. “Tom, Dick, and most especially Harry, aren’t exactly ripe for the picking out here.”

His laugh was bitter, and Harry felt as though his heart was sinking and soaring at the same time. His hand shot up to his mouth to cover an involuntary gasp. There was no way Louis could be saying what Harry thought he was saying.

“Brother, are you positive…?” Lottie’s question trailed off, and Harry wasn’t sure he could stand to hear a moment longer.

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit, but by some miracle, he managed to back up enough that he could retrace his steps down the last few stairs. He took them at a loud clop, rushing forward and bursting out into the garden.

“Hello!” he exclaimed breathlessly to the siblings.

The pinch between Louis’ brows lessened immediately, and he smiled up at Harry. “Harold! It’s about time you got here. I thought I was going to have to help Lottie, and then we all would have been in trouble.”

“Right,” he swallowed against the desert that his throat had become. “I was just, erm. Finishing a letter? To Gemma. I’m not sure you ever met her.”

Louis shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.” He clapped his hands together. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it, then.”

Mrs. Deakin had given Louis the task of building a temporary cloth tent extension for the veranda so they would have enough room for all of their guests to relax in the shade if they so desired. Louis had complained once, or a thousand times, about the heat, but Harry had been too busy admiring the way his sweat made the thin shirt stick to the muscles in his back.

Louis saluted them, then exited the garden, rounding the house and disappearing out of view.

“Shall we?” Charlotte asked, gesturing towards the artfully overgrown expanse in front of them.

Harry tried to put on a brave face, “We shall.”

It was still early enough in the morning that the sun had not reached its full height, and they were shaded by the trees, so they stayed fairly comfortable. Charlotte did her best to keep up a running stream of inane chatter about anything and everything she could think of, and Harry appreciated it.

In the months he had known her, she had never before been so talkative, so she must have sensed that something was weighing on his mind.

There _was_ something. Despite his attempts, he wasn’t able to shake what he had heard them talking about. It followed him through their work, and through luncheon. That afternoon, he could barely read more than a sentence at a time as they relaxed in the sitting room. It felt like he was missing entire paragraphs of the texts he was attempting to decipher.

Of all the explanations for Louis saying what he did, none of them seemed to fit so precisely as the most simple of them all. Louis was interested in men. Romantically.

Harry could scarcely let himself travel down that path, so he tried to come up with every alternative he could think of, grasping at threads, anything to keep his own hope at bay.

It wasn’t until he lay in bed that night that he let himself dare to dream.

Harry himself had always known that he didn’t feel the same way about his sister’s friends growing up as he did his own school friends. None of the stories they were taught, none of the contraband erotic novels the other boys in the dormitory managed to acquire, ever felt right or even plausible to him.

He didn’t identify the feeling until almost two years after Louis left when he woke up surprised after dreaming of the enviable physique of his much older, very distinguished, polo coach.

Denial prevailed for a while, and then eventually he came to accept it about himself but decided to lay low, stay quiet about it. There had been a dalliance here and there, mostly in university. What had hurt the most was exactly what Charlotte had touched upon with Louis in the garden: Harry had always desperately wanted a family of his own.

Gemma had two children, and he loved them fiercely, had been present for both of their births, but the reminder that he wouldn’t have that for himself had become too much to bear. All of his cousins within visiting distance were having their own children, and everywhere he turned he was celebrating an engagement, a wedding, a birth.

He had escaped in the name of independence, worldliness. But really, it was cowardice.

Where had it gotten him, then? At the doorstep of Louis Tomlinson. Fresh hell in the form of unyielding attraction to the best friend he had ever had.

And now, there was a chance - a very slim chance - that Louis was looking for exactly the same thing Harry was.

Harry was too restless, unable to sleep. He needed to speak to Louis, but if he was incorrect, and inadvertently gave Louis too much information about himself, it could have dire consequences.

This inner turmoil went on for days until finally, he had managed to talk himself down off the ledge. He would find a way to work something into their conversation, he wasn’t sure what yet, a hint or opening that could easily be explained away, and he would try to gauge Louis’ reaction.

Louis had been busy with preparations for the party, but once it was underway, he would be able to relax. Harry would approach him then.

 

The morning of the house party dawned bright and clear. They all went down for breakfast at sunrise as usual, but no one had time to stop and leisurely feed the giraffes. That was left to the youngest members of their party, as all of the adults had too much to do.

The guests were set to arrive just before luncheon, and the entire morning was a flurry of activity. Harry didn’t have a moment to sit down, much less have a deep and meaningful conversation with Louis about something very private.

Mrs. Deakin orchestrated everything like a maestro of the highest order, and soon the guests began to pour into the grounds.

Partygoers ranged from the owners of the company, and the dancers, to the dressers and servants that traveled with them. It felt as though the entire upper echelon of European expatriates was in attendance as well. Included was, to Harry’s chagrin, a small crowd of the Happy Valley set that Louis had turned his nose up at during their visit to the theatre.

When he saw them, he was afraid Louis would make himself scarce as he told Harry he normally did when they came calling, but instead he stayed right where he was, by Harry’s side. It would have been wonderful if it weren’t equally infuriating.

He so desperately wanted to talk to Louis, but there was always someone else around, in their immediate vicinity, or worse, locked in conversation with them. There was nothing quite as rude as monopolising the host of a party, so Harry was doomed to wait.

When the dreaded guests finally approached, they did so as a unit. Louis’ spine stiffened when he saw them, and he began introducing each in turn with a hint of steel in his voice. There were quite a few Dutch names and even one American. The rest were English, though, and Harry could barely keep them all straight.

“Louis, darling, when will you come over to visit us on our side of the city?” one woman purred. The bored looking man next to her flashed a smile that still managed to look like a sneer.

“Who is this?” the bored man asked, gesturing to Harry.

Louis cleared his throat and met Harry’s gaze, “This is Mr. Harry Styles.” Harry shook the man’s hand and felt as though he were under a microscope.

He and Louis were close enough now in their reconnection that Harry liked to think they could communicate non-verbally; Louis’ eyes were very clearly broadcasting the need to escape this conversation as quickly as possible. His body language must have been transmitting the same message because his mother quickly approached their group from behind.

“Harry, darling!” she cooed with more syrup in her tone than he had ever heard before.

“Yes, Mrs. Deakin?”

“One of the girls is looking for a crystal vase for a bouquet Niall bought. I could have sworn it was in the pantry, but they say they can’t find it. Be a dear?” She plastered on a saccharine smile, well aware of the opportunity she was giving them. Harry and Charlotte had personally arranged every stem on the property, so Niall buying a bouquet was unfathomable (as was the idea that there was a single empty vase left within twenty miles). It was code.

“Louis?” Harry prompted, attempting to save his comrade, secretly hoping they could escape together and find some privacy.

“Yes, of course, a vase,” Louis turned to join him, but at that same moment, the Niall in question appeared with a real crisis somewhere on the property. Both were plausible excuses, and in that moment neither one of them could quickly produce a reason that they should have to accompany the other, so Harry and Louis split up; Harry to the pantry, and Louis off somewhere else.

There was, of course, no vase in the pantry, but Harry still wanted to hide and didn’t want Mrs. Deakin to have lied about his whereabouts, so he stole a few biscuits and munched on them while counting down the minutes until he could reasonably emerge.

It was while he was munching that he heard voices and footsteps just outside his hiding place. Quickly jumping into action, he began rummaging to make it look like he had been doing it the entire time just in case it wasn’t Louis doubling back to rescue him.

“Well, what do we have here?” The man with the sneer said with faux surprise. He was standing with the woman he had accompanied in the open pantry doorway.

“A pet, my love,” his female companion replied. Harry’s blood pressure was beginning to rise, and he could feel his adrenaline pumping. He had never before felt with such clarity what it meant to be cornered. Louis’ prey metaphor from the ballet had an unnerving accuracy to it.

The two figures began to move into the pantry space, closing in on him. “I think you may be lost,” he stammered, uncertain.

“Oh no, pet. We’re not lost. You are,” the woman purred again. “Let us help you.”

Harry’s back hit the shelves with a painful twinge at each point of contact. He swallowed nervously as they sandwiched him in on either side, pressing their bodies into him.

The woman reached her perfectly manicured hand up and pressed it against his sternum. Her rings were large enough that Harry could feel the cool metal through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Please stop,” he whispered.

“You don’t want to play?” she asked sweetly, as her hand began to move down the front of his chest. “We would love to play with you.” Her perfume was cloying. Up close he could see the dilation of her pupils, and the heaviness of the rouge on her cheeks.

Everything in Harry screamed for him to try and push past them to freedom at the other end of the narrow space, but he didn’t want to cause a scene or run the risk of hurting the woman.

The man’s pelvis began to turn into Harry’s own just as the pantry door opened all the way, flooding the space with light.

At the other end of the tunnel stood Louis, mouth agape at the scene before him.

Both of Harry’s companions were startled and turned towards the disturbance, but all Harry could see was the pure hurt that had etched itself onto Louis’ face.

“Well… I’ll just…” Louis choked out before he turned and ran.

The surge of adrenaline was all Harry needed to finally push through the two bodies, overpowering them just enough that he could escape. He didn’t think, he just pursued Louis, acting on instinct alone. There was no sign of him, but Harry heard a miniscule creak from beyond the kitchen that could only have come from the small back stairway up to Louis’ rooms.

In all the time he had been there, Harry had never been in Louis’ rooms, and Louis had only been in his once. It had never been necessary.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation for Harry before he was climbing up the small steps like a madman.

“Louis?” he cried out desperately. “Louis, are you up here?”

He didn’t have a chance to look around the small landing area before pushing open the first door.

In the middle of the room, in front of a large four poster bed - much like Harry’s in the other house - stood Louis with his back to the door, hunched over, crying.

Harry rushed to him, intent on explaining when Louis abruptly held a hand out. “Wait,” he said, and Harry immediately stopped.

Louis reached his hands up to wipe under his eyes with the fabric of his shirtsleeves. It took him a moment, long enough that Harry began to register the sound of the instrumentalists they had hired from the ballet’s orchestra playing a Charleston just under one of the large windows in the room, implying that they were over the veranda.

Once Louis had composed himself, he stood up straight and turned around to face Harry fiercely, proudly. Harry’s heart broke at the sight.

“I am so sorry, Louis,” Harry started.

“What have you got to be sorry for? You’re free to do whatever you like with whomever you like,” Louis recited tonelessly. His face, usually so expressive, was blank and hard as stone. He was only betrayed by his red-rimmed eyes.

“Am I?” Harry whispered. It was now or never.

“What?” Louis’ expression began to crack.

“Am I so very ‘free,’ as you say?” Harry pressed. Louis had taken the extra moment to school his features again and was now silent. “Louis, those people are vile. They cornered me, just as you told me they used to do to you. They’re predators.”

He waited, watching to see how Louis would react. When he remained still, Harry pressed on, intent on seeing this through now that he had started.

“Even if they weren’t such wretched people, even if it was just one of the dancers your mother has tried so very hard to make sure I notice, did you think that would make a difference? None of them are men, first of all,” Harry scoffed. “But mostly, none of them are you,” Harry finished, just barely getting the words out.

He studied Louis’ face so carefully that he thought he might strain his eyes, but it was worth it to both see and hear Louis’ sharp inhale.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was thick with emotion. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying, Louis. I’m in love with you.” Harry’s heart was pounding, and he was sure he never would have had the courage to say what he had said without the adrenaline of his near miss in the pantry coursing through his veins.

Louis said nothing. Harry had finally rendered him speechless after twenty years of acquaintance. Slowly, Louis sank down to sit on the end of the coverlet behind him.

“You…” Louis trailed off.

“Love you, yes,” Harry nodded, certain of the words now that he had already said them once.

Louis finally made eye contact with him for what felt like the first time in years, and before Harry knew what was happening, Louis was rushing forward, into his arms, pressing Harry into the wall behind him.

For the second time in less than half an hour, Harry felt cornered, and the experiences couldn’t have been more different.

Louis’ face was inches from his, their chests pressed together as Louis’ gaze searched his own.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“More than anything,” Harry replied.

Louis’ fingers tangled in the short hair at the back of his neck, and Harry could feel the scrape of his stubble just before he pressed their lips together.

Harry’s eyes drifted shut, and light exploded behind his eyelids as he let himself drown in everything Louis was giving him. He had never experienced anything like kissing Louis Tomlinson before.

As soon as he was beginning to grow accustomed to the feeling of Louis’ weight against his, Louis’ lips against his, the feeling was gone. Harry let out an involuntary whimper at the loss, his body subconsciously following Louis’.

“I'm so sorry, God help me. I'm no better than them,” Louis exclaimed as he began to pace in front of his bed frantically. “I can't believe I just did that.”

“What?” Harry was still dazed from their kiss. It took him a moment to realise why Louis was berating himself. “No! Louis, no. You are nothing like them,” Harry did his best to assure him.

“I forced myself on you!” Louis’ face was stitched in anguish.

“No, you didn't. You were forceful. There's a difference.” Harry's cheeks heated up, and he couldn't believe what he was about to say. “I'm not opposed to the latter.”

Louis was in such a state, Harry wasn't sure he truly understood what he was trying to say, but he was also too embarrassed to clarify. As long as Louis’ mind was at ease. That was what mattered.

Harry reached his hand out to Louis, trying to get him to stop pacing. “Lou, please,” he begged.

Louis finally halted his movements and looked up at Harry with wide eyes. He swallowed and Harry watched his throat bob. All he wanted to do was suck a bruise there, but it was clear he would need to ease Louis into deeper intimacy.

“I simply-” Louis began, wringing his hands together in front of his body. “I’m having difficulty believing you want this.”

Harry’s immediate thought was that Louis didn’t have faith in Harry’s attraction to him, or worse, his romantic feelings towards him. Confused, he started to clarify, but Louis pressed on. “No, not in that way,” he paused to reconsider. “Possibly in that way. I’m not entirely sure.”

Louis let himself drop down onto the bed again.

“Harry, you have to understand,” his voice broke with emotion. “I’ve wanted this for such a long time. It’s hard to believe that you’re here, in bloody Africa,” he gestured expansively, “much less that there’s a world in which you would consider loving me.”

Harry surged forward the same way Louis had, gripping Louis’ face with both hands, drawing him in, kissing him fiercely, and holding on for dear life. There were so many conversations that they needed to have, but Harry couldn’t fathom tackling them at the present moment.

Louis felt tense, strung tight, but as they continued to move together, the tension melted away before he finally took control of the kiss. Harry lost himself in the taste of Louis’ mouth and the silky, sinful way their lips moved together. Everything about him was distracting in the very best of ways.

Slowly, Louis turned Harry around without him noticing; Harry didn’t realise until his back was pressed against one of the posters of the bed, draped in its canopy of netting. Even then, he didn’t think much of it. All he could feel was the brush of coarse stubble against the sensitive skin of his neck and the slight twinge of burn that Louis was leaving in his wake.

For all Harry’s daydreaming of leaving a bruise on Louis’ neck only moments ago, Louis seemed to beat him to it effortlessly, marking Harry in such a way that would be difficult to hide. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.

Harry took it upon himself to shift so that he was lined up perfectly to be laid out across the thin coverlet draped over Louis’ bed. Thankfully, Louis understood, and his body fell somewhat gracefully over Harry’s as they toppled down to the bed. Instead of continuing the kiss, Louis lifted himself up, balancing over Harry, studying his face.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, breathless and desperate, missing Louis’ mouth immediately.

Louis’ smile was slow and feral. Harry shivered a bit, completely under his spell. “Absolutely nothing,” Louis replied, leaning down to barely brush his lips over Harry’s brow. “You’re so beautiful.”

The simple phrase stopped Harry’s breath. He had been with a few men before, there was nothing new to him about having a lover, but he had never before received a compliment like that. ‘Beautiful’ was a word saved for flowers, vistas, young debutantes with fair hair and fresh faces. Not Harry. He knew he was supposed to want to be handsome, manly, that was what he was taught.

Wasn’t it just like Louis to cut through everything else in the world and reach Harry’s very core with a few words.

That was when something monumental washed over him. This was _Louis_. Louis knew him. They may have needed to reconnect by physically being in the same place again, but what they had was beyond that. It was as though their friendship, their deeper feelings towards each other had lain dormant all those years, latent, preserved through the sands of time.

A tear fell out of the corner of his eye as he lifted himself up to kiss Louis once again.

Louis didn’t ask questions when they separated, only taking a moment to brush the tear away with the pad of his thumb.

Just as suddenly, Harry was hit with a fierce need to get as close as possible to Louis.

Harry pressed against Louis’ shoulder intent on flipping them over, and they went easily. The euphoric high from being able to finally touch Louis, kiss him, was getting to be too much for Harry; he sat up, perched on Louis’ thighs, knees pushed into the mattress on either side of Louis’ hips.

When he didn’t say anything for a moment, content to admire Louis laid out in front of him, Louis smirked up at him.

Harry felt giddy like he couldn’t control the champagne bubbles in his stomach. “Hello,” he said quietly, cheeks sore from smiling so widely.

Louis lifted his hand up towards Harry’s torso, hooking one finger in the space where the fabric gaped between two of the buttons on his shirt. Africa was so warm that Harry had been foregoing the normal undershirt he would have worn. The back of Louis’ finger barely grazed the skin of his abdomen, and Harry felt his muscles clench in anticipation.

“What would you say,” Louis started off hesitantly as he played with Harry’s buttons, “if I said you were wearing too many clothes?”

Overwhelmed, Harry leaned down and brought their mouths together again, skipping the more chaste, flirtatious kisses and launching straight into the longer, more intimate pulls of Louis’ lips and tongue.

He brought his hands up to Louis’ chest and began unbuttoning his shirt instead. Managing to be fairly covert until the plackets were completely undone, held together only by Louis’ belt. Harry grew too impatient and gripped the fabric of Louis’ shirt in his hand and gave it a solid tug, releasing it from its confines.

Louis snickered into their kiss and began reciprocating with Harry’s shirt, and soon they were pressed skin to skin. It was a wonderful feeling, the idea that they were moving towards _something_. But Harry also would have been entirely content to just lie there, cuddled on top of Louis, surrounded by him, by his scent. That kind of intimacy, Harry felt, was only borne of the fact that they knew each other so well. He had never felt this way about anyone else before.

Things grew heated from there; they quickly divested of the rest of their clothing, and Louis managed again to flip them over after a playful struggle that devolved very quickly into teasing of a much more intimate kind. Harry ended up splayed across the large mattress, completely at Louis’ mercy as he sucked, nipped and caressed his way down Harry’s chest. He stopped and took a moment to nuzzle the thin skin around Harry’s groin.

It took all of his concentration to keep himself under control as Louis wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock. Louis did his best to tease Harry, bringing him close to the edge and backing away multiple times.

When he finally sat up, Harry’s entire body was fraught with tension, and desperation coursed through his veins. Louis very casually climbed out of bed, slow as molasses, and opened up his bedside drawer at a snail’s pace, intent on tormenting Harry by drawing out the process.

No one could hear Harry begging through the open window. The band that was hired for the party played a Charleston, loud and boisterous, drowning out anything untoward that someone might hear floating down with the breeze.

As if he had conjured it, a rare gust of wind picked up and licked across Harry’s skin, upsetting the net canopy, before Louis lowered himself down once again to press close to Harry and block it out.

Louis deftly trailed a hand down between Harry’s thighs, taking his time to run his fingers across the slight, barely there abrasions he himself had made with his stubble not minutes before. Harry’s skin was becoming raw and sensitive with a bite to it that only sent him flying higher.

The light sounds of the party in the background faded completely as Louis deftly opened him up. Harry had tunnel vision, able to concentrate only on the feel of Louis’ sure and confident ministrations.

It took Harry a fraction of a second to decide to switch their position one last time. Louis grunted in protest when he found himself flat on his back again, but his displeasure quickly cleared when Harry tucked a pillow under his head and grabbed the small pot of oil Louis had retrieved earlier.

After he positioned himself, and due to Louis’ careful consideration with his body, he moved slowly and carefully, smoothly lowering himself down onto Louis. Letting his body adjust, Harry began to move after a few moments, shifting his pelvis in small circular motions designed to drive Louis wild.

The man in question threw his head back into the pillow as far as it would go and moaned, letting his eyelids flutter shut for a moment before snapping back open again. His gaze was dark and dangerous as he bent his knees and planted his feet on the bed, letting Harry ease some of his burden and lean back against his thighs.

Louis reached his hands down and cupped Harry’s hips lovingly before the grip grew tense and biting.

Harry relished in the sensation, leaning into Louis, splaying his hands out across his torso. His languid movements didn’t last long before Louis’ patience ran thin, and he began to snap his hips up into Harry’s. His participation changed the angle enough that Harry’s pleasure intensified, sharpened, and he could feel his whole body let go and give in to Louis.

Harry’s senses were heightened, and it felt like he was a string being pulled taut, ready to snap. His arms weakend and he fell forward back onto Louis’ chest. He tangled his fingers in Louis’ hair and began to tease the juncture of his jaw, mindlessly nipping at the salty skin. The pressure was even more acute, and his own cock was finally getting friction from the rippling muscles and soft skin of Louis’ abdomen. From there it didn’t take long for them to find their release, one right after the other, Harry panting heavily and burying his face in Louis’ neck.

When they were finally able to let go of each other, Harry rolled to the side closest to the window, lying on his back, admiring the way the netting on the canopy caught the light. Louis burrowed in closer to his body and draped his arm across his stomach. Harry basked in the feeling of being anchored by him.

Louis turned his head and pressed a kiss to the paler skin of Harry’s shoulder. “That was…” he trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the sentence. Harry knew.

They were sweaty and sticky and needed to clean up, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to move. Silence fell in the room, but they could still hear the music and noises from the party downstairs.

Slowly but surely, they drifted off to sleep.

 

A loud hollow clatter of metal pierced Harry’s consciousness. He was jolted awake but could see nothing amiss until he rubbed his eyes sleepily and leaned over to lift up the netting that surrounded them. The light outside was getting brighter, in the very beginnings of the sunrise, and he needed to let his eyes adjust.

The sheet pooled around his waist as he sat up enough to hook the netting back and his gaze drifted down to the floor where he saw a large pewter bowl turned topsy-turvy under the open window. There was a heavy wooden table right next to it, so it must have fallen off, but Harry didn’t see how it could have; the wind wouldn’t have been strong enough.

He leaned even further out of bed, closer to the offending bowl, and was little more than an arm’s length away when he saw small pellets on the ground. They looked remarkably like the ones served at breakfast and tea for the giraffes.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a large wet nose and long gray tongue poked through the open window in front of him, startling Harry straight out of his skin. His body jerked back into the safe confines of the bed and his legs tangled in the sheet.

“Bloody hell!” Harry shouted, waking Louis up in the process.

“Who? What?” Louis asked blearily, pushing himself up to assess what was amiss.

“Louis! There is a giraffe outside the window,” Harry hissed.

Louis flopped back onto the mattress. “Oh my, must be breakfast.” His speech trailed off into a low slur as his eyes drifted shut again.

“You feed them here as well?” Harry asked, incredulous. All he received in lieu of a reply was a few light snuffles. He nudged Louis a few more times before he gave up on trying to rouse him again and blushed as he thought about why it was so difficult. They had woken up together a few times during the night.

Harry’s adrenaline was keeping him from joining Louis in slumber, though, so he crawled out of bed and bent down to retrieve the pellets. The mysterious nose and tongue had disappeared when Harry shouted, but all he had to do was stand at the window shuffling the pellets around in the bowl for a few seconds before the giraffe reappeared, this time with a friend.

Interacting with them now on his terms, Harry didn’t see the issue in leaning out the window to feed them the pellets, especially as the second giraffe was ever so slightly shorter than the other.

He continued on happily until he heard the murmurings of Louis’ family at the breakfast table one floor below them.

“There are two over there,” Felicité called out, no doubt speaking to the younger twins. “Louis must be feeding them. Louis? Is that you?”

Harry saw the top of her head and almost began to wave before he realised what he was about to do and leaned back away from the window immediately. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be naked and hanging out of Louis’ window, he was supposed to be sound asleep in his room in the garden house.

For the second time that morning, Harry retreated to the bed out of fear. He was much less considerate this time in trying to wake up Louis, shaking one of his shoulders roughly.

“Lou,” he hissed.

“Hmm?” Louis asked, still unconscious.

“Wake up, Louis. I need your help,” Harry pleaded.

That must have finally cut through the fog because Louis’ eyes snapped open. “Harold?”

Louis looked so rumpled and confused, blinking against the even brighter light of the rising sun, that Harry’s heart couldn’t help but melt. The giddiness was back. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Louis’ open mouth.

“Your family is downstairs,” he whispered.

Louis blinked a few times and shook his head, needing the same heartbeat Harry had required to remember why that was a bad thing.

“Oh,” was his only reply, but Harry could see the wheels turning in his brain. “I think you should just go down and sneak through the kitchen into the breakfast room. Say you were looking for some odd fruit or other,” he teased.

Harry playfully pinched at his hip. “Alright. That’s as good a solution as any,” he said. There was no avoiding the fact that his clothes were the same from the night before, but they were simple enough that he hoped it would go unnoticed.

They dressed quickly, and Harry left a few minutes before Louis did, sneaking down the back stairs to the kitchen. He said hello to David and grabbed a pear out of the bowl, biting into it as he stepped into the breakfast room.

“Good morning,” he announced sunnily to the whole family. They all greeted him in turn - those who weren’t distracted by their large intruding company through the open windows - and shifted to make room for him. One of the attendants brought him a plate piled high with eggs, toast, and bacon. Harry tucked into it immediately, suddenly ravenous after a long night of more strenuous exercise than he had in months.

“Hungry this morning, Harry?” Mrs. Deakin asked him with a sparkle in her eye. He froze guiltily with the fork halfway to his mouth when he caught it. She looked like she knew something, and mothers were notoriously omniscient.

Louis’ entrance into the breakfast room saved him from further inquiry, and he chose to ignore it for the moment. He went back to his breakfast as Louis was given an equally full plate and pursued it with just as much vigour as Harry had. They shared a brief, private glance between them and continued eating.

“You as well, then Louis?” Mrs. Deakin observed with one eyebrow raised.

Louis made a questioning sound around his mouthful of toast, but she just smiled to herself and sipped her tea.

 

They all finished breakfast and dispersed, going about their own business for the day. Harry went back to his rooms to change his clothes, turning around immediately after he was redressed to see if he could find Louis and lure him into his study for more kissing.

Upon exiting the garden house Harry found Mrs. Deakin waiting for him.

“Would you like to take a walk, darling?” she asked sweetly. Harry sensed a trap.

Out of politeness, he couldn’t say no. “Sure, that would be lovely.”

As Mrs. Deakin took his arm, he could only hope that Louis wasn’t waiting for him somewhere. They hadn’t discussed their plans for the day, but Harry knew they had been on the same page.

He walked beside Mrs. Deakin, holding her parasol for her to shield her from the sun as she chatted about this or that. All of it was gossip from the party, the majority of which Harry had missed. He did his best to smile and hum in some semblance of a response to everything she was saying.

They were in the shade, a fair ways from the main house when she patted Harry’s forearm.

“Now, Harry,” she said with enough finality in her tone that Harry’s skin prickled and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “What were you doing dangling from my son’s window, feeding the giraffes at sunrise this morning?”

Harry’s entire body froze and he stopped walking. He desperately needed Louis to help him navigate this situation, which he suspected was exactly the reason that she had cornered him. Alone.

“Erm… Well… I was just...,” he stopped and started a few times as he scrambled to come up with a plausible explanation.

She smiled widely, enjoying the simple act of watching him squirm. “I wouldn’t have known it was you and not Louis, you know. I didn’t even realise at the time,” she tugged on his arm to start walking again. “But later, you came to breakfast through the kitchen sporting what looks at first glance to be a very large and very nasty bug bite on your neck.”

Harry’s hand flew up to cover the offending bruise instinctively even though he hadn’t looked in the mirror, and had no idea where it was on his neck. He was mortified.

“I’m so sorry,” he stammered out by way of apology. He had just exposed not only himself but Louis to the scrutiny of his family, and he would never forgive himself if it caused a rift between them. If Louis’ family disowned him because of one night with Harry, it would devastate everyone involved. He searched for anything to say to try and make it better.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Harry, I think it’s lovely. I’ve been waiting for this since we arrived,” she said, extremely pleased with herself.

“You have?”

Mrs. Deakin squeezed his forearm closer to her chest, “Of course!”

She must have read Harry’s stunned silence for what it was because she barrelled on; “We all know about Louis and understand him. We’re his family,” she said as if it were just as easy as that. “The girls have had bets going since we first got here and the two of you hugged for so long in front of the carriage. Charlotte, I think, is the winner.”

Harry still didn’t know what to say, though he knew now that he would never again underestimate the fierce love and loyalty of a mother. He had never had a similar conversation with his own mother, but he was inspired to try when he returned home to England.

Home. The idea sent a pang of sorrow through his heart. Sometime between waking up next to Louis and being found out by his mother, Harry decided that he wasn’t going to return to England with the Deakins. They were slated to leave in just three days, and he couldn’t possibly leave Louis so soon. He would delay his departure, spend a few more weeks in Kenya with Louis. From there, he wasn’t sure what their fate would be.

Later, when he and Louis were curled up in his study in front of the open window to catch as much breeze as possible, Harry recounted in excruciating detail the conversation with Mrs. Deakin. Louis was doubled over, clutching his stomach and laughing uproariously.

When he finally settled back against Harry’s chest again, Harry broached the subject of his departure. He could feel Louis stiffen in his arms, but did his best to assure him that he wasn’t leaving just yet. They didn’t talk about what would happen when he would truly need to leave, but for now, it was enough.

 

The last few days before the Deakins’ departure were idyllic. Harry and Louis were only teased a bit for the change in their relationship, and no one batted an eye when Harry’s traveling case ended up in Louis’ master bedroom the next day. He tried to ask which one of the staff had done it in order to thank them, but they all had just smirked at him collectively.

Waking up next to Louis each morning was a revelation. They kissed, talked, drowned in each other, and spent entirely too much time upstairs.

Harry didn’t want to detract from the time Louis had left with his family, though. He pushed for meals and outings that would allow them to take advantage of every second before they had to return to England.

The months they had all spent at Giraffe Manor were some of the best of Harry’s life.

After dinner, the night before the Deakins were due to take the carriage back to Nairobi to catch the train with the ballet, they were all lounging around taking one of the questionnaires in a ladies’ magazine that the girls had brought with them. Louis was giving cheeky answers to the questions, and Harry couldn’t believe how devastatingly happy he was feeling in that moment.

That night, Louis led him up to bed, and they lay together listening and drifting off to the sounds of the world coming to life around them in the pitch black of the valley.

 

The departure of the Deakins was bittersweet that morning. They fed the giraffes a sunrise breakfast one last time and Doris and Ernest did so with tears in their eyes, not understanding at the age of seven that their new friends couldn’t come with them back to England.

When the carriage finally disappeared down the long drive, Louis told all of the staff that as soon as they finished tidying up, they were allowed to take the rest of the day off. They would manage.

The older head housekeeper clucked a bit, worried that he and Harry would starve to death without David or herself there to feed them, but Louis succeeded in charming her into acquiescing.

Niall had been the one to drive the Deakins into town, so he wouldn’t be about, and they were well and truly alone for the first time since they had reconnected.

Louis put together a picnic spread and they laid out in the middle of the field where the giraffes usually roamed, no longer married to the shade of the terrace for tea. There were a few giraffes also lounging in the sun some distance off, but none of them came close enough to be looking for food.

They both stripped down to their skivvies and basked in the warmth of the lazy afternoon. Eventually, Harry leaned over and drew Louis into a deep kiss, licking the pear juice off of his bitten lips.

“This is amazing, Lou,” Harry whispered later when they both pulled back, panting to catch their breath.

Louis stared at him for a long moment, lifting a hand up to brush some of Harry’s growing curls off his forehead. “Stay,” he whispered.

When Harry couldn’t come up with a satisfactory reply, he kissed him again. This wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t, but they had time.

 

The next morning the real world intruded on their paradise in the form of Niall. He had gone into Nairobi and picked up the parcels and mail that didn’t make it to the manor with the regular service.

They all sat around the much emptier breakfast table, and while they ate, Niall handed Harry a packet of letters tied together with a string. The correspondence had all gone to the Muthaiga club where he was supposed to be staying and hadn’t been forwarded to him until now.

He sorted through two months of mail until he landed on the most recent one from his mother that was marked urgent and covered with excess postage. It had only been stamped in Nairobi a few days before.

Familiar loopy handwriting greeted him, and he smiled in heartwarming recognition of his mother’s penmanship, but it was quickly wiped away when he realised the contents of the letter.

Gemma’s husband Matthew had taken gravely ill, and they were worried he wouldn’t survive much longer. Months, the doctors were saying.

Harry gasped and loosened his grip, sending his teacup clattering down into the saucer.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Louis asked him, voice urgent to match Harry’s change in demeanour.

Louis and Niall were both looking at him expectantly. Louis’ expression was especially devastating; his eyes were wide, and he looked worried for Harry.

Harry loved him so much, but he knew what he had to do.

“I have to go,” he rasped as his voice broke and the tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He stood up from the table but remained still, not quite having the strength to go up to Louis’ room alone.

“Go where? To the city?” Louis asked, his tone implying that he was ready to help Harry conquer the world. He wasn’t going to feel that way for long.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Home.”

“Oh,” Louis replied flatly, understanding dawning. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I think the next boat goes in a few days?”

Harry just stared at him, unwilling to break their eye contact for the world. “Now, Lou. I have to go now. Your family’s boat goes tonight at half past five.”

Neither one of them said anything for a moment until Niall finally cut in to save them. “You’re going to need a plane,” he said quietly, reluctant to put himself in the middle of their dilemma.

Harry nodded and cleared his throat again, but the rising lump didn’t go away. “Can you do that?”

Niall stood up as well, and now Louis was the only one of their party that remained seated. “I’ll send a messenger. We can get one here in an hour. That should be enough time to get to Mombasa.”

“Thank you, Niall,” Harry said, voice breaking again. He looked down at Louis, who was staring at his hands folded on the table in front of him, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Standing there in the breakfast room, Harry waited for Louis to acknowledge what was happening so they could talk about it. Start saying goodbye.

Harry was holding onto himself and his composure by a thread.

When Louis said nothing, Harry forced himself to walk to the back of the house and climb the stairs two at a time.

As soon as he was cocooned in the privacy of Louis’ room, the tears began to fall. Tears for Matthew, tears for Gemma, tears for their children. Tears for Louis and time cut short. They all fell silently down his cheeks as he rushed around gathering everything he could think of, stuffing it in his trunk. He didn’t have time to wait for one of the staff to do it, and he would just have to get everything laundered on the boat.

He was in such a tizzy, feeling rushed and upset, that he didn’t hear Louis’ footfalls on the stairs and was startled when he turned around and Louis was watching him from the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered. “I just don’t want you to go.”

Harry rushed forward and pressed their lips together, savouring the taste of their kiss, salty from his own tears. “I don’t want to, but I have to.”

Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and buried his face in Harry’s chest, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“I’ll come back soon,” Harry said, forcefully.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harold,” Louis replied, words muffled by Harry’s shirt.

Louis was right, of course. There was no guarantee, no timeframe. Harry didn’t know, couldn’t know what the future held. It would be different, he was sure, if they had time to get used to the idea.

Even if Harry got off the boat in England and got right back on for a return journey, that would still take at least a month, closer to two. It was too much time.

The rest of the hour went by in a daze of stuffing his trunk with everything he could think of before they heard the loud sputtering of a plane’s engine landing in the field just beyond the edge of Louis’ land. The engine noise cut off abruptly, and the air rang with silence in its wake.

Niall called to Harry up through the house, and Harry gathered all of his things. Louis took his hand in a vice-like grip and walked downstairs plastered to Harry’s side.

All three of them crossed the small pasture behind the manor through the opening in the trees and into the plains beyond, where there was a small two-seater plane waiting for Harry. He didn’t recognise the pilot at first, but when the man flipped his goggles up, Harry could see that it was one of the Happy Valley set, a friend of the couple who had cornered him in the pantry.

That felt like months ago when, really, it had only been a few days. He recoiled a bit, and Louis squeezed his hand. At least he and the man would be separated and completely encased in metal.

Harry wasn’t sure what kind of favours or money Louis and Niall had to shell out for this trip, but he knew he would do everything he could to pay them back in kind.

Niall and Louis shared a long look while their pilot guest watched on in interest. Harry waited as Niall winked at him, then drew the man around the side of the plane in a discussion about something; money, mechanics, Harry could care less.

As soon as they were out of sight, Louis turned and kissed Harry harshly. Their lips mashed together, and their noses bumped too hard, but Harry poured all of his sorrow into it.

When Louis pulled back, he immediately brought a hand up to his eye to wipe away what could have been a tear, the only one Harry had seen. In the endless list of things Harry loved about Louis, his strength was towards the top.

The pilot came back around, and he loaded Harry’s bags much too quickly. Harry could feel Louis’ grip, hidden from view at his lower back, dislodging his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. Louis plunged his hand underneath the hem and spread his palm out against Harry’s skin, the contact tantalising.

Harry let his body lean into Louis’ as though they were hugging goodbye before placing one last kiss on Louis’ forehead and ripping himself away from him.

He crossed to the plane and managed to cram himself down into the recessed seat. The plane’s engine came to life with a deafening roar, and Harry rushed to put the mufflers over his ears. The pilot was saying something, but he wasn’t listening. He could barely see Louis if he craned his neck over his shoulder and leaned as far as he could over the metal side of the plane, but it still wasn’t enough.

The plane began to jolt forward and take off at a clip across the field, forcing Harry to stop looking at Louis.

His stomach flipped as they became airborne, and Harry strongly suspected he would need to vomit in his lap. No matter what, he wouldn’t be able to see Louis for at least two months. Realistically, he knew that it was an entirely reasonable amount of time, but that knowledge did little to settle his stomach.

 

The flight was turbulent, and the engines were so loud that it left Harry with entirely too much time alone with his own thoughts. Thankfully, he didn’t need to interact with the pilot at all.

As soon as they touched down in another field near the harbour in Mombasa, there was an actual motorcar waiting for him. He hadn’t seen very many in his time in Africa; Niall must have wired for one while Harry was in flight.

Tossing his thanks over his shoulder to the pilot, Harry grabbed his trunk and transferred it to the car. It was only just four o’clock, and it would be a tight window, but he should make it before they retrieved the gangplank.

The ride to the boat was a blur. The Deakins were under strict instructions to cancel Harry’s ticket when they arrived, but it was easy for Harry to identify himself to the quartermaster and explain the mixup. His cabin had not been resold, and a porter took his trunk right then and there.

Divested of his possessions, he felt lost. He had no choice but to find the Deakins. The quartermaster was not permitted to tell Harry what their specific cabin number was, so he went in search of the tea room, hoping to find them in there as they so frequently were on their first journey together.

When he entered the room and saw that the Deakins were alone, he was paralysed by relief. Mrs. Deakin saw him first.

“Harry!” she cried out, startled, as she stood up to greet him. The rest of the family all turned to find the source of her excitement, and Harry was unable to see anything but Louis in all of his siblings’ faces.

Mrs. Deakin met him in the middle of the room but hesitated before approaching him, confusion lining her face. He meant to explain, he did, but all he could do was crumple in on himself. She caught him in a hug, and he leaned on her strength.

“I have to go home,” he sobbed into her neck. He was twenty-seven, an adult, he should be able to compose himself, but everything had moved so quickly after he had received the letter. He had barely had time to process anything.

He vaguely heard the sound of everyone shuffling out of the room around him, giving him blissful privacy to fall apart.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” she murmured as she held him. It was all he could ask for in that moment.

 

**_Four Months Later_ **

Sebastian and Tilly held hands as they skipped ahead through the park. It was a beautiful summer day in Cheshire, and the wildflowers were still in full bloom; the kind of day that lent itself to a good mood.

Harry sighed as he closed his eyes and let the breeze drift over his face. He hated to be so melancholy, but he was having a difficult time being at home.

Gemma’s husband Matthew was on his deathbed, unfortunately. He was entirely comatose and his doctors were saying it was a matter of days. Gemma was doing as well as could be expected. She had a strong character and wanted to remain steadfast for her children. It didn’t ease the burden of grief in any way, but it helped that he had been bedridden for some time, to get the family used to the idea of his passing.

Time gave Gemma the opportunity to explain their father’s illness to Sebastian and Tilly as best she could and become accustomed to being their only parent. She had Harry, she had their mother, and she had their household staff to get her through the tough times ahead.

Harry had them as well, he supposed. It wasn’t quite a lonely existence, he had his friends as well, but he thought about going back to Louis nearly every day.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t heard from Louis once over the last few months. He understood that it would take time for any letters to reach him, or for any of his letters to reach Louis, but he had a letter from Mrs. Deakin telling him that Louis and everyone at the manor now had a telegraph operator nearby. Sending and receiving messages had never been easier for them, which begged the question of why Louis hadn’t tried to contact him.

Sebastian and Tilly continued playing tag in the grass, and he could see that their skin was starting to get a bit pink, indicating it was time for them to go back inside. He called for his niece and nephew, and they came running towards him, barreling into his legs with glee.

They had their moments of awareness regarding their father, but at five and three, it was easy to distract them.

Gemma was there to greet them when they returned, and she helped Harry take off their muddy, grass-stained shoes.

“You’ve had another telegram from the Deakins in London,” she said as she began to draw a bath for her children.

“Have I? Lovely,” Harry replied as he made silly faces at Tilly, trying to keep her occupied until it was time for her to get in the shallow bathtub.

Her tone was judgemental and her look searching. “One of these days, you should respond to them.”

“Of course I respond,” he lied, defensively. He should never have confessed his true feelings about Louis to Gemma, but he had been in such pain when he returned, she had noticed how altered he was immediately.

Gemma sighed. “Harry, my husband is lying in that bed, but I will never get him back. Don’t be an idiot. At least go to London and see his family.” She threw the towel down and got up from her knees, exiting the room in search of Sebastian.

She was right, of course, he should go see the Deakins. It would be a difficult and uncomfortable afternoon, spent with people who both knew and reminded him of everything he had given up. But a part of him missed Louis so much that he knew he would go visit anyway, just for the small reminder that Louis had been real.

 

In the end, Harry made the journey the next day. He went to the station in time for the early train, ran some errands in London, and met with his bank and his solicitor, before finally calling on the Deakins for afternoon tea.

Their tea time in London was much more subdued than it had been in Africa. Mr. Deakin was at work, Charlotte was off with her fiancé, and Felicité and the older twins were in school. That left only Harry, Mrs. Deakin, and the younger twins. Harry felt as though Doris and Ernest had each grown a foot since he had last seen them, and he told Mrs. Deakin as much.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t come to see us sooner, my dear,” she said, not unkindly.

Harry crossed his legs and leaned back into the wing of the chair. “I know,” he responded, filled with remorse.

Mrs. Deakin just smiled at him warmly and leaned over to pat him on the knee. “It’s alright, love. I understand.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a while, enjoying their tea and watching Doris and Ernest play with their toys and games before Mrs. Deakin finally broke it.

“I know it’s not conventional, what the two of you have,” she said to Harry, “but I also know what the real thing looks like.”

Harry smiled sadly. “I’m not sure we have much of anything, to be honest. Louis hasn’t—” he didn’t know how to say the words out loud, so he trailed off.

“I assumed as much,” she replied, studying the teacup in her hands. She contemplated it for another few heartbeats before she placed it and the saucer down with finality. “It’s not my place, Harry, but I’ve found I don’t quite care. That boy has loved you for a very long time - since you were young - and that damned Hargraves must have had some clue after we met with him, must have been smart enough to figure it out.”

Mrs. Deakin’s speech was getting more and more frenzied, so she stopped herself and took a deep breath. “Louis is generally stubborn, but he is even worse when it comes to what he deserves. And what he deserves, now, is you, but he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks you were taken from him once, and this is the world taking you from him again.”

Harry was shocked beyond measure. He was upset that Louis was so quick to dismiss him and his feelings, but also filled with sorrow at the idea of Louis hurting for no reason.

Something about the way Mrs. Deakin phrased what she said struck Harry as odd. “What do you mean taken from him once?”

Mrs. Deakin shook her head, “When we pulled him from school, we went in and spoke with Dean Hargraves about the situation. Louis made it very clear that he was fighting to stay so that he didn’t have to leave you. He was young and so smitten with you but didn’t quite understand his feelings, or why it was wrong. Hargraves understood, though. The old coot didn’t say anything to me in so many words, but I could tell. Then Louis told me at the manor that you never received his letters, and we both knew what had happened.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, not knowing what else to say. He was bowled over by the idea that even back then Louis had felt strongly enough about him to fight to stay by his side. As an eleven-year-old facing a war, there wasn’t much more he could have done. But he had tried.

Harry leaned back in his chair again. He knew what he had to do, and it was scary given the silence, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t.

 

**_Nairobi, Three Weeks Later_ **

Africa smelled the same. That was the first thing Harry noticed when they docked in Mombasa the day before. He was amazed at the memories that came flooding back as soon as it hit him.

Getting off the train in Nairobi was an experience in and of itself. He had sent a telegram ahead of his arrival so that Niall would know when he was due and Harry could keep his arrival quiet, but they arrived ahead of schedule for once and he had some time before the cart would be there.

Ironically, Harry had never actually been to the bar at Muthaiga Club. They had seen the ballet performance at the theatre next door, but the bar was world-renowned and he had never been. He imagined he would have spent a lot of time there if he had stayed in their rooms as he originally intended. Most likely, he would have gone every day.

Harry ordered a whisky at the bar and downed it in one go to take the edge off his nerves. The porters had taken his luggage, but there were some old newspapers laid out for him to read. There were a few he hadn’t already seen, so he settled into an armchair with a cup of tea to wait.

When Niall arrived with the carriage, Harry felt his nerves flare up again. Niall wrapped him up in a welcoming hug, and they caught up on the months Harry had been in England, but Niall didn’t press him on anything important. Harry appreciated that, intent on keeping it to himself until he could gauge Louis’ reaction.

There was an uncomfortable moment when Harry handed his relatively small case to a suddenly very quiet Niall and he almost blurted out his plans if only to wipe the disappointed look off of his face, but he managed to stay strong.

Harry felt uncomfortable riding inside the carriage while Niall sat in the driver’s seat, so he climbed up onto the bench with him and settled in for the ride.

His anxiety continued to climb as the drive went on, but he knew in his heart that all of the decisions he had made since he decided to come back to Africa were the right ones.

✯✯✯

The clock on the mantle of Louis’ study chimed five o’clock just as his eyes began to cross from going over the books for the umpteenth time that day. There were so many accounts to keep track of: food, linens, staff wages. The list went on forever. He loved running the manor, he really did, and he knew what needed to be done, but he did not excel at paperwork.

Harry had been incredible with the books when he had been there because he had helped his mother run their estate from a young age. Without realising it, Louis had drawn Harry into the running of the manor gradually while they spent time together. Harry would ask him questions about it, he would answer, and the next thing he knew Harry was helping him tweak his system for the accounting ledgers.

Accounting wasn’t _really_ what he missed about Harry if he was being honest with himself. Louis was in love with him, he knew that, but he had to let him go. Again.

Harry had always felt ethereal in that way, almost like quicksand. Louis had him in his life for years, months, always just a moment in time before he slipped away again.

When they were children that was what summer holidays felt like - lonely and devoid of the laughter and mischief that inhabited the school year.

Louis sighed and let himself relax into his chair far enough that his head was resting on the back and he was staring up at the ceiling. Harry had gone back home. That was the reality he needed to accept.

He rang down for tea, hoping it would fortify him to get through the rest of his work.

Soon enough, there was a knock on his door, and he called for them to enter. To his surprise, Niall poked his head in through the doorway.

“Afternoon, boss,” he said jovially.

“Niall, you don’t have my tea,” Louis pointed out, feeling irrationally irritable. Ever since Harry had left, he found himself picking unnecessary fights with the people around him. He was glad his staff knew better than to take him seriously, and he did his best to tamp down the urge, but it was difficult for him to find a more positive outlook lately.

“No, I don’t,” Niall replied, his smile widening.

Louis growled at him, “What’s got you so damn cheerful?” He tried to turn back to the accounts, but the numbers hadn’t stopped swimming. Tea was supposed to help clear his head.

“Lou, I think you should take tea on the veranda.” When Louis looked up at him, Niall was motioning towards the door encouragingly.

The veranda was fine when there was company and he loved feeding the giraffes if they came to visit, even if he was by himself, but he hadn’t felt up to it lately. Too much reminded him of Harry.

“Why would I do that? I have work to do.”

Niall ignored his protestations, “A little fresh air and sunshine will do you some good. Come outside.”

Louis looked pointedly at the open windows and bright sunlight streaming in one side of his study. “We live in Africa, Niall. Do you know what would do me some good? A real English drizzle.” The phrase was the closest he had ever come to admitting that he might want to go back to England for a visit, and he tried to convince himself that his sudden bout of homesickness had nothing to do with Harry.

“I’m sure it will pass,” Niall replied cryptically. Louis sighed and stood up to follow him outside anyway. As long as Niall knew that it was under duress.

Niall held the door open for him, and Louis started down the back stairs. They made it all the way down and through the breakfast room, but when Louis reached the threshold of the side door to the garden, he paused. Niall had disappeared.

He looked around for a moment, but there was no trace of the Irishman anywhere. Immediately wary, he decided to continue out to the veranda just in case Niall made a stop at the kitchen to get them their tea. Eventually, he was going to get a cup of tea one way or another.

Louis needn’t have worried. The very first thing he saw when he rounded the corner was the tea cart, loaded with everything including biscuits and sandwiches. That was probably a tad excessive for just him.

The second thing he saw took his breath away; Harry Styles was standing with his back to him on the edge of his veranda in the light of the evening sun, framed by the landscape behind him.

A giraffe, Daisy he believed, had her head and neck bent down far enough to feed out of Harry’s hand, and as Louis was convincing himself that the picture in front of him wasn’t a mirage, she nosed at the plackets of Harry’s linen blazer in search of more biscuits.

Harry’s laughter carried over the breeze, and Louis felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

His feet carried him forward until he was standing an arm’s length away from the love of his life.

Harry finally heard him approach and turned with wide, uncertain eyes to face him. “Hi, Lou.”

Louis cleared his throat to say ‘Hello,’ but couldn’t manage to make the necessary sounds. He abandoned the idea of talking and threw his arms around Harry’s neck instead, drawing him into a tight hug.

Seconds, minutes, hours later he whispered into Harry’s now tear-stained collar, “You came back.”

Harry only held him tighter.

Eventually, when they released each other, Harry’s small travelling case caught his eye. The size - one meant for a short stay - pricked at the edges of Louis’ excitement, and he could feel his heart deflate in his chest.

“Is this a quick visit then?” his voice broke, betraying his disappointment.

Harry smirked, “Nope.”

Louis was still reeling, trying to wrap his head around Harry being there, and he couldn’t decipher the meaning of his answer. “Then why don’t you have any things with you?”

“They’re on their way,” he replied. The implication that it was too many possessions for him to travel with made Louis’ heart soar again.

“ _All_ of your things?” he asked, hoping to hear Harry admit that he would be staying permanently, but too afraid to ask.

“How do you feel about building a house on the property next door?” Harry asked out of the blue.

Louis couldn’t keep up with the change in conversation. “It would be lovely, but I don’t own the property next door.”

“I know that, but I do, and I think it would be wonderful,” Harry’s grin kept growing and spreading across his face. It was still exactly the same smile that he used to use when he got away with charming the cook at school into giving them extra sweets from the kitchen.

“You-you what?” Louis sputtered.

“My mother, as well as Gemma and her children, will be here in a few months, and they’ll need a place to live. We don’t want to take more space away from the paying guests.”

Louis was flabbergasted. “Gemma, your sister? And your mother?”

Harry gave in and was laughing outright at Louis’ confusion, but it sounded an awful lot like he really was staying forever.

His shock dissipated when Harry leaned down to capture his mouth in a kiss. Suddenly, Louis didn’t care if the whole of England moved to the property next door. As long as Harry was there, he would be settled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
